Consuming Flames
by SweeneyOCD98
Summary: Avatar: The Last Airbender AU. Captain John Watson, soldier of the Earth Kingdom, is captured and sent to the Boiling Rock, the most infamous Fire Nation prison. As if things weren't bad enough, some insufferable guard won't leave him alone...
1. Prologue: Captured

**IMPORTANT: This story will take place within the timeline of the original show-NOT "Legend of Korra".**

**I will do my best to do the universe of ATLA justice, but some things may change for the sake of the story.**

**And yeah, I know this AU may seem a bit random and crack-y, but I think it could work well (at least I hope so).**

**One last thing: I have to give credit to my friend, Nick. He's the one who came up with this AU.**

**Enjoy!~**

* * *

The first thing John registered was a dull throbbing in his head, followed by a burning sensation in his shoulder and side. No, not _in-on. _There were burns _on _his shoulder and side, and _god _they hurt. Then, he realized his cheek was pressed against cool metal and that he was lying on the floor. His eyes flew open. A cell. A red-tinted, metal jail cell. A cold wave of dread and devastated realization washed over him.

"Fuck!" he sat up, groaning and clutching his shoulder at his burn, his spinning head sending nausea through him. John knew it was useless, but he tried to bend anyway, aggravating his burn. Of course, nothing came out of it; Earthbenders were put in metal cells for a reason.

How did he get here? He remembered treating a wounded soldier on the battlefield, the Fire Nation closing in, his men fighting with all their might, a surge of flames flying towards him and...nothing. The intensity of his injury must have knocked him out. Had Omashu been captured? Were his men okay? What happened to the man he'd been treating?

John looked down and saw that he'd been stripped of his uniform and put into red rags. Well, that made it official: he was a prisoner of the Fire Nation.

"Fantastic," he muttered darkly. He stood up and looked around his cell. It was small, but not enough to make him feel claustrophobic. There was a mattress on the floor without a blanket, but that was okay. It was pretty warm, anyway. Back hurting from being on the floor for who-knows how long, he made his way over to the mattress and sat down on the edge.

He felt his stomach twist into a tight knot and he clenched his hands on the edge of the mattress to keep them from shaking. "Don't panic," he told himself. "Panicking will do nothing. You weren't trained to panic." He felt silly talking to himself, but fuck it. He was captured and had to do whatever he could to maintain his calm. He needed to distract himself somehow.

Curious, John lifted the bottom of his shirt to examine the burn on his side. The burn extended from his hipbone up to his ribcage, stopping just below his left nipple. It hurt, but it looked better than John thought it would. The one on his shoulder felt worse. He used his right hand to push his left sleeve down carefully.

Oh. It was _bad. _In fact, looking at it made him kind of sick, which was saying a lot for a doctor. No wonder it hurt so badly. It would take weeks to heal, and he wouldn't be surprised if it scarred. John gingerly pulled his sleeve back up.

Great, just great. He was injured and captured. He swallowed a lump in his throat. He failed. He failed miserably. He let his men down, his city down, and his _kingdom _down. Out of habit, he tried to bend in frustration, and felt anger bubbling inside his veins when nothing came from it. He loved Earthbending. Not only was it a part of his identity, but it made him feel powerful. He loved to hear the crunch of the rocks as they smashed to the ground. The thought that he might not be able to bend again made his chest ache. He lied down on the hard mattress. He would have rather died in combat. At least that would have been honorable.

The image of the burned man he was trying to treat flashed before him. John squeezed his eyes shut. No. He couldn't think about that now. Couldn't think about the life he didn't save. He would really go mad, then, and it was only his first day.

John looked up when he heard his cell door open and saw a guard standing in the doorway.

John stood up and and clenched his fists. "Where are my men?" he demanded.

"I don't know or care," said the guard in a deep, nonchalant voice.

"You don't know?" John took a step towards him. He didn't care that he was injured and couldn't bend; he had to know if they were okay.

"I don't. The affairs of prisoners are of no interest to me."

"Someone has to know."

"And that someone is not I. Get out of your cell, it's time to go outside."

"Outside?" John asked. "Outside where?"

"To the courtyard."

The guard's eyes were obscured by the scarlet mask attached to the helmet, but from his tone, it sounded like he was rolling his eyes.

"What's in the courtyard?"

The guard sighed in annoyance. "We let the prisoners out once a day in the courtyard for an hour so they won't go completely insane. Be grateful."

John wasn't in a particularly good mood (waking up in prison with burns would do that to a person) and he did not feel like dealing with some Fire Nation twat's arrogance. "Oh, sorry I'm not grateful for the tender way you treat your prisoners. My apologies, sir, I'll remember that while I nurse my injuries inflicted by your soldiers. My mistake."

In hindsight, it probably wasn't a good idea to provoke the guard, but John was never able to control his temper well.

The guard's fingers twitched, but to John's surprise, he didn't bend. "I don't have the time to deal with your immaturity. Get out the cell," he muttered and walked out.

John raised his eyebrows. A guard who didn't threaten him for speaking out of turn...that was a first. He was still a douche, though. Regardless, John decided to listen and left the cell. Maybe seeing other people would calm him down a bit and he could find out if his men were there, too.

John walked out of his cell and followed the other prisoners in a line. They all looked miserable, pissed, and a tad too skinny, but that was to be expected.

As he walked, the weight of his guilt was beginning to crush him despite his attempts to send it away, and an odd pain bloomed in his knee. Though he didn't check, John was pretty sure his knee was unharmed. It didn't make sense, but his knee was really starting to hurt. He stifled a grunt of pain and favored his other knee, walking with a slight limp. Perhaps it was just cramping from him lying on the floor.

"Hurry up," a voice snapped beside him.

He turned and saw a guard. Although the mask and helmet obscured his face from the bridge of the nose up, something told John that it was the same guard from a few minutes prior.

"Oh, excuse me for fucking limping," he shot daggers into the cold, pale eyes glaring into his through the holes of the mask. "How dare I hobble along in pain," John said through clenched teeth.

The guard's lip twitched. "The only reason I'm showing you any mercy is because you're not worth my time."

"How damn charitable of you," John hissed and limped away with as much dignity as he could. God, he knew they were all self-righteous, but that one Fire-prick was particularly insufferable.

John felt a gentle tap on his shoulder (the good one, thankfully) and he turned around. A young woman with brownish-red hair was staring at him in astonishment.

"Er, yes?"

"Sorry, it's just, wow. The way you spoke to him-I wish I had that much courage!"

John grinned a little with pride. "Yeah, well, if I have to stay here, I won't be pushed around, even if it bites me in the arse later."

"That's amazing," the woman said, wonder clear in her wide brown eyes.

John cleared his throat. "Um, well, what's your name?"

"O-oh," she stammered, now self-conscious, "I'm Molly." She gave him a small smile.

"John," he shook her hand, her kindness easing his mood a little.

"Move along!" the guard snapped from somewhere behind them.

John huffed and motioned for Molly to follow him. "What the hell is his problem?"

"None of them are too friendly, but he is pretty intense. He's always like that."

"Charming."

"He's not too bad, you know, if you get to know him."

John looked at her in surprise. "What, you know him?"

"Well, no, not really, but he talks to me sometimes. I know his name, but that's not much, is it? He gets bored a lot."

John finally stepped outside with Molly, "Still, guards don't usually interact…" His voice died in his throat. Oh, god no. He knew _exactly _where he was.

"John? You were saying?"

Anywhere but here. _Anywhere _but here. Clinging to his last shred of hope, he asked, "Molly...Molly, where are we?"

"You don't know? Ah, well, you do look new. But didn't they tell you-?"

"No, I woke up in my cell," he snapped. "Tell me: where _are _we?"

Molly frowned. "This is the Boiling Rock."

And there went John's hope.

* * *

**Should I continue this AU?**


	2. Anger and Facination

**So I'm going to continue this. It's fun.**

**Enjoy!~**

* * *

The Boiling Rock was the most infamous Fire Nation prison because of its inescapability due to its location. The prison was built upon an island surrounded by boiling water, and the water surrounded by a ring of high, ragged rocks. The only way out was to ride a cable car up to the top of the tall rocks and then be taken away by an airship. From what John understood, it was pretty far out into the ocean, so even if he did manage to escape, he would spend weeks, possibly months in the unforgiving ocean. In short: there was no way in hell he was getting out of there.

Molly smiled sympathetically, "Yeah, I know. Things look pretty glum, huh?"

"Understatement of the century," John muttered.

"It's not so bad here."

John stared at her blankly.

"Well, okay, it is," she conceded. "But, I mean, you get used to it. If you don't cause trouble, you'll be fine. They don't go out of their way to bother us."

"Except for that one from earlier," he reminded her.

"He's kind of a special case."

An awkward silence fell upon them and after a few moments, John cleared his throat. "So, how did you get here?" he asked as casually as possible.

"I'm a Waterbender," she said. "That's reason enough, I guess. They despise us most of all, you know, because we have the potential to take them down. It's a shame the only water around here is beyond the wall," she gestured to the towering metal walls surrounding them.

"That makes sense. They're probably scared of you," he smirked and she giggled. "How long have you been here?"

"Oh, I don't know," she sighed. "Maybe a couple years? It's easy to lose track of time here."

John frowned. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she brushed it off. "So what about you? What brings you here?"

"I'm one of the Earth King's soldiers stationed-well, I guess previously stationed-in Omashu. Have you heard anything about Omashu recently? Do the guards talk about the war?"

Molly frowned and fiddled with her hands, looking down. "Yeah, they talk about the war all the time. We heard the guards talking about victory in Omashu a few hours ago. They were cheering and all, so, I guess…" She trailed off.

John felt utter defeated at the news, and he clenched his fists. His hometown, his family, his friends, and his girlfriend, Mary, were now subjects of the Fire Pricks. "Fucking perfect," he growled, causing Molly to take a small step back. He wanted to bend. God, he wanted to bend. He wanted to smash rocks into the earth until he was sweating and barely standing upright from fatigue. He wanted to stomp his foot onto the ground, feel the vibrations of earth coming up, and hear the satisfying crunch as he sent it all crashing back down.

His hands were shaking.

"John?"

He didn't feel like talking to anyone anymore. He needed to be alone. "Sorry, Molly, we'll finish this conversation another time, yeah? Good." Without waiting for a response, he limped to an empty corner of the courtyard and sat down, squeezing his clammy hands together tightly. If he were in a right state of mind, he would have felt bad for dismissing Molly, but he would apologize to her later.

If Omashu had been captured, then his men had to have been captured as well, right? Where the hell were they? He looked at the other prisoners standing around, all dressed in red rags and looking fairly miserable, but he recognized none of them. The courtyard was large, though, so he couldn't see everyone. He wanted to get up and look around more, but his stupid leg wouldn't stop aching.

Now he was even more useless.

The thought of his Mary under the rule of the Fire Pricks made him shudder. He wondered if when he was released, if he were ever released, she would still want to be with him. Probably not. She'll have probably moved on by then and he wouldn't blame her. Even if she didn't have another man, would she want him back? He doubted it. No one wants a broken soldier.

* * *

_**Sherlock's P.O.V.**_

Sherlock was staring at the man when a hand on his shoulder made him jump.

"You all right, mate? You've been staring into space for seventeen minutes. That's impressive, actually."

Sherlock scowled at Lestrade. "Yes, I'm fine, or at least I was before you interrupted my thoughts."

Lestrade smirked, unfazed. "Yeah? What are you thinking about so hard that you've been in a trance for seventeen solid minutes?"

"None of your business," he snapped. "How do you know that it's been seventeen minutes? Have you been keeping track?"

"Oh, you're in a great mood today, aren't ya? Come on, tell me what's up."

Sherlock thought about telling him to piss off, but he decided against it. "That prisoner there," he pointed across the courtyard, "the one slumped in the corner."

"Yeah? What about him?"

He pressed his fingertips together to form a steeple under his chin. "He's interesting."

"What, can you deduce him from all the way over here?"

"Of course I can," he sniffed. "His body language is so easy to read it's almost pitiful."

"Oh, lovely," Lestrade said dryly. "I thought you said that all prisoners are, and I quote, 'dull plebeians or idiotic soldiers fighting a futile war'?"

"And it's true," he said.

"So why has that one caught your attention?"

Sherlock looked back at the man in the corner. "He argued with me earlier."

"Not that much of a shock."

"I know, but it was the way he did it…" Lestrade looked at him to elaborate, but when he found that he couldn't put his thoughts into words (which was concerning), Sherlock said, "I think he's developing PTSD."

"Again, that's not much of a shock."

"It's fascinating to watch."

Lestrade grimaced. "That's pretty morbid, even for you."

"What's morbid about it?" he asked.

"You're finding amusement in a man's deteriorating mental state."

"It's not amusement, it's fascination. There's a difference. And since when have _you_ cared about the prisoners, Lestrade?"

"They're still people," he said firmly. "They're people, just fighting on the wrong side."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but stayed silent. He didn't want to start another argument over the war, especially not with a patriot like Lestrade. Besides, he knew by now that speaking out against the war didn't come without a punishment.

Sherlock stared at the prisoner. "Do you know what his name is?"

"The one you keep staring at like a creeper? That's Captain Watson from Omashu. Did you not pay attention to the Warden?"

"No," he said honestly.

Lestrade looked slightly annoyed, but not surprised. "We got him from the victory in Omashu. I heard he's a good doctor and strong Bender-really strong. He's injured several of our men, apparently."

Sherlock thought about his previous encounters with the man. He had prisoners lash out at him in the past, of course, but they were angry out of fear. But it seemed different with Watson. He didn't lash out at Sherlock out of fear; he was just plain angry. He didn't seemed frightened at all. Prisoners who had been there for a while, like Molly, were eventually desensitized, but this was Watson's first day and he still wasn't frightened. It was baffling. It was infuriating. Sherlock wasn't one of those guards who loved the power he had over the prisoners, those ones were pathetic, but why wasn't Watson afraid? He was supposed to be afraid.

Earlier, he'd seen Molly talking to him. Maybe she knew something about him.

"As enlightening as this conversation has been, I must depart," he told Lestrade.

"You've got that look."

"What look?"

"The look like you're going to go over there and bother that guy."

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "I'm going to talk to Molly."

"That's not much better. You know the Warden doesn't like you being on a first-name basis with a prisoner, let alone a Waterbender."

"And when have I cared what the Warden thinks?"

Lestrade sighed. "Fine, I know this conversation is useless. Go. Stay out of trouble."

Sherlock spotted Molly not too far away and walked to her briskly.

She gasped when he appeared next to her. "Oh, you scared me!"

He ignored her reaction. "Molly, you've talked to Watson, yes?"

"Watson? Who's Watson?"

"That one," he pointed to Watson, who was still throwing himself a pity-party in the corner.

"Oh, you mean John."

John. That was his name. Disappointingly ordinary.

Molly continued, "Yeah, I talked to him briefly before he went over there. I think he's upset about Omashu because he's from there and-"

"Yes, I know that."

She raised an eyebrow. "Then what do you want to know? I only talked to him for a few minutes, it's not like he told me his life story."

"He isn't afraid," Sherlock said. "You saw him earlier, he was ready to fight me even though he couldn't Bend. He was barely containing his rage."

"Oh yeah, when you were acting like a jerk," she said, nodding. "Yeah, I remember."

He glared at her. "Molly…"

"Don't act like you're going to threaten me, we both know you won't."

"That's just it!" he blurted, gaining the attention of some nearby prisoners. He lowered his voice to a whisper and spoke rapidly. "You're not scared of me because you know me. He doesn't. Why is he acting this way?"

"Maybe he's just brave? He is a soldier. Why are you so hung up on this? He isn't the first prisoner to talk back to you."

Sherlock thought about it, and realized he had no answer to that. "I...I'm not sure." He looked back over to John, who was climbing to his feet and, from the looks of it, sighing deeply. Sherlock felt drawn to him, but he didn't know why. It was starting to frighten him.

"Molly, I want to talk to him."

"Why?"

"I want to know more about him. I grow more bored by the day and he'll occupy me."

"Are you implying that you're getting bored with me and moving on to him?"

He looked back at her with raised eyebrows but saw that she was smiling. Ah, she was just joking. She wasn't really jealous. He allowed himself to grin. "I know you already, but I don't know him. He's a new challenge."

"He's not too fond of you after you yelled at him for limping and all."

"He was being slow!"

Molly sighed in exasperation. "If you want to talk to him, just do it, but don't expect him to want to talk to you."

The bell rang, signalling the end of the prisoners' free time.

As Sherlock walked back to his post, he kept thinking about John. Sherlock was assigned to monitor the floor John was on, so he didn't have to go out of his way to talk to him. But he still needed an excuse. He couldn't just walk into his cell and say, "Hello, I want to know your history and would you also tell me about your developing PTSD?" Sherlock may not understand social interactions very well, but even he knew that was not good.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't watch where he was going and bumped into a prisoner.

He was about to hiss, "Watch it", but stopped short when he saw it was John.

"Oh, you again," John said gruffly.

How did he recognize Sherlock? He still had his mask on.

"Come to enjoy being a power-hungry prick?"

Okay, Sherlock was _not_ going to stand for that. But he had to remain calm. "Must I tell you again to watch your mouth?"

"Or else you'll burn me? Fine, go ahead. I'm already burned, it'll just be another battle scar." John held out his arms, exposing his chest in a vulnerable position, taunting him. "Do it."

And damn, Sherlock wanted to bend. He clenched his twitching fingers into fists, resisting his body's urges, and the fire in the nearby lamps rose and fell with his deep, calming breaths.

He didn't miss how John's eyes flickered to the lamps for a split second. His golden hair was highlighted by the lamps and Sherlock realized it was the first time he got a full view of the annoying prisoner. His frame was small, but the red uniform clung to his toned chest and stretched over his broad shoulders and biceps. Earthbenders tended to be more muscular than other Benders, considering the element they dealt with, but he was exceptional.

Sherlock swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "Get in your cell," he said, voice rough with self-restraint.

John looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. He went in his cell, but not without one last glower at Sherlock.

The doors to the cells closed and Sherlock slumped against the wall at the end of the hallway, alone.

Why was he so affected by a stupid soldier?

* * *

**They're such assholes to each other. I love them.**

**By the way, this is what Sherlock's uniform looks like, but with the mask down:**

** i . ytimg vi / Zn0jAtPwGBo / hqdefault . jpg**

**Please review!~**


	3. Playing Hero

**Sorry for not updating in 10 years. I didn't know what to do with this, but the wonderful power0girl gave me a plot bunny :D**  
**So, John is an angry, frustrated trash can in this chapter. But he'll warm up to our Sherlock eventually.**  
**Also, the Fire Nations guards are total dicks in this chapter.**

* * *

John woke with a gasp and shot up from the mattress, heart pounding wildly. He put a hand over his chest and panted, shivering, although he was soaked with sweat.

He had a nightmare, for sure, but he couldn't remember what was in it. It probably had to do with the last time he was in combat when he'd gotten burned. John closed his eyes and settled back down, careful not to disturb his burn on his shoulder.

He had always been prone to nightmares ever since he was a little boy. When he was a kid, his mother would soothe him with gentle back rubs and shushes. When he was with Mary, she would kiss his face until he fell back asleep.

John sighed shakily.

Mary.

What was she doing now? Was she crying for him? Was she sleeping soundly in their big bed? Was she sleeping with company? John felt a tremor run through his hand and his fingers twitched. He missed her more and more as each minute passed.

_"My brave soldier," she smiled and kissed his lips, blue eyes sparkling with tears she pretended weren't there. "You better come back to me."_

_"Of course I will," John said to her. "Even if they get me, there's nothing in this world that'll prevent me from escaping and coming back to you."_

John forced the memory from his mind, his throat suddenly tight. He pushed out his hands violently in a familiar bending position, but of course, nothing came from it. He tried again, and again, and again, until the burn on his shoulder was screaming at him to stop. John lay down on his stomach, panting this time from exertion and pain.

"Mary, I'll find a way," he mumbled into his pillow. He felt drowsy again and closed his eyes, imagining her beside him.

The bell rang loudly and his cell door opened.

John jumped up and saw the dick guard. "Time to go outside," the guard said curtly.

John just nodded and got up. Maybe some fresh air would take his mind off Mary.

* * *

John sat down on the ground in the courtyard with his back against the wall, his leg aching. He was disappointed that he hadn't seen Molly when he came outside, though she was probably on the other side of the courtyard. His leg hurt too much to go and find out. John liked talking to Molly. She was sweet, and the only positive aspect of his whole situation. They spent their time exchanging stories from their pasts.

"I was able to hide from them when they invaded by tribe," she had told him quietly. "I moved into the Earth Kingdom, but eventually, they found me. I don't know how, but they must have known they were missing a Water Bender. I don't know," she shrugged. "It doesn't matter how they found me, I guess. I'm here. But, actually, they didn't bring me here right away."

"They didn't?" John asked.

"Nope," she shook her head. "They made me go with them on invasions and heal their wounded soldiers. I was only allowed to have water at those times. That meant I couldn't drink very often."

John frowned. "That's terrible. That's deprivation of a basic need for survival!"

"Did you expect better from them?"

John swallowed. "I guess not."

Molly coughed awkwardly. "Sorry to darken the mood. Anyway, they brought me here when they caught me healing Earth Kingdom soldiers."

John felt a wave of admiration for his new friend. "That was brave of you."

Molly smiled sheepishly. "Well, it was the right thing to do."

He wanted to ask her more, like how she knew that one fucker guard, but they had to go back into their cells before he got the chance. There would be plenty more days to get to know Molly better, anyway.

Speaking of that guard, he was kind of...unsettling. Not that John was scared of him, not by a longshot, but he caught that guard staring at him yesterday. John asked him what he was staring at, and the guard snarled, "Nothing, peasant."

"You just stare at prisoners when there's nothing else to do? You feel all high and mighty having control over us?" John knew he was instigating, but he was somewhat enjoying it.

"Shut up," the guard growled. "I don't spend my time staring at prisoners, I have better things to do."

"Oh, so you just stare at me?" John asked with a cocky grin.

The guard huffed and stomped away.

Later that day while John was in the courtyard, he caught the guard staring at him again. "It's getting a bit creepy now," John said. "Would you mind leaving me the fuck alone?"

"Don't talk to me like that," the guard warned.

"Oh yeah?" John walked right in front of the guard and looked into his eyes through the holes of the mask. "You gonna punish me?"

The guard bit his lip, turned on his heel, and stomped away again.

What a weirdo.

Aside from talking to Molly and being annoyed with the guard, there wasn't there wasn't anything to do around here and _god,_ John was getting bored.. Who knew being a prisoner of war would be so mind-numbing? He might go crazy by the end of the week.

One of the most frustrating parts of this was that he couldn't bend. Bending used to be his favorite pastime. It was the most effective way for him to relieve stress and it simply occupied him.

But, of course, metal wasn't one of the four elements. There was nothing he could do. If he were allowed to bend, he would feel better. Not even a week in and he hated this godforsaken place.

"Hey, you!"

John snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of the voice and looked up, but realized it wasn't directed at him.

There was a woman a few feet away from John, clutching something in her hands tightly and a guard towering over her.

She brought her hands close to her chest, blinking owlishly up at the guard.

The guard gave a curt nod towards her hands. "What's that?"

"What's what?" the woman asked with obvious forced calm.

"Don't play dumb," the guard sneered and pushed her back by the shoulders, enough to make her stumble, but not fall. "You've got something in your hands. What is it?"

"There's nothing in my hands," she said firmly, unconvincingly putting her hands behind her back.

Some of the nearby prisoners were now looking on, and another guard walked over to the scene. "What's going on? Is she hiding something?"

"It seems that way," the first guard said. "She definitely has something in her hands, but she won't tell me what it is."

"Well," the second guard lifted his hand and outstretched his palm, a flame emerging. "If she doesn't tell us, we'll just have to burn her hands, won't we?"

The woman gasped in horror and brought her hands to her chest again.

John got up, the pain in his leg forgotten, clenching his fists. He was about to step in, but the woman interrupted him.

"Fine, I'll show you!" tears filled her eyes. She unclasped her hands to reveal... a tiny sock?

John raised an eyebrow. _Is that a baby's sock?_

"This belonged to my child," the woman explained tearfully, her lower lip quivering. "I hid it so I can have something to...I miss my baby so much…" She broke down in sobs. "Please, please let me keep it!"

John heard sympathetic sighs from the onlooking prisoners and he felt a pang in his chest.

The guard, flame still burning from his palm, scoffed. "Are you serious? Prisoners are not allowed to have personal belongings, you know that. Give it here."

"No!"

"Give it now, or you'll have your hands burned!"

John couldn't watch this anymore. "Hey!" he bellowed.

Although the masks made it hard to tell, he was pretty sure the guards' eyes widened. John walked in front of the woman and glared up at the guard who threatened to burn her hands, ignoring the heat of the flame a few inches away from his face. "Leave her alone. You took everything away from this woman and you can't let her have one thing? Hm? Do you really have no shred of human compassion?"

The guard scowled. "Move out of the way or I'll burn you instead."

"Go ahead," a shit-eating grin spread over John's face, his heartbeat quickening. He'd missed this-being in the face of danger. It felt amazing. "Do it. Better me than this woman."

The woman behind him whispered, "Please, you don't have to do this!"

"I know," he whispered back. He became aware of the small crowd watching him and wondered if Molly was watching. She would definitely disapprove.

The flame emitting from the guard's palm grew and burned brighter, the heat on John's face intensifying.

John closed his eyes. This was going to hurt like a bitch. His original shoulder wound still wasn't close to healing, either. Oh, well. It's for a good cause, he told himself. Besides, he was having fun.

"Stop!" a deep voice cut through the air.

John opened his eyes and turned his head towards the direction of the voice.

A guard was approaching them...Wait, was that the dick that he caught staring at him?

"Holmes?" the guard extinguished the flame and put down his hand.

That guard, Holmes, stopped in front of them. "There's no need for this. Just leave them be."

"Since when do you care about punishing prisoners?" the guard asked, sounding flabbergasted.

"This is just a waste of time, Anderson" Holmes said tiredly. "You really want to waste your bending on these peasants? I thought you were better than that."

John would have rolled his eyes at that, but it seemed like he was being saved. _Pick your battles, Watson._

"Well, she's still breaking the rules," Anderson pointed at the woman behind John, "and he," the guard was pointing at John now, "provoked me."

Holmes sighed with great annoyance, although John was wondering if it was put on. "He's not worth your fire."

Again, John would have been pissed off at that, but Holmes was saving him. Why?

Anderson groaned, "All right, fine. But, I'm still burning her sock."

"No!" the woman shrieked.

"Do whatever you please to it," Holmes said. "It is against the rules."

Anderson made fire burst from his palm again. "Move," he said to John.

John sighed in defeat and moved out of the way, giving the woman a sympathetic look, though she was too busy crying to notice.

As John was walking past the guard who started it all, he heard him mutter, "Captain Watson ain't so tough now, is he?"

John stopped dead in his tracks and with a sudden, intense rage overcoming him and making his vision red, wrapped his hand around the guard's throat and pushed him against the wall.

He squeezed tighter when the guard's hands came up to try to pry John's hand from his throat. "What the fuck did you just say to me?" John whispered dangerously.

John felt strong hands on his shoulders, ripping him from the guard. "Are you insane?" a deep voice, presumably Holmes', growled in his ear.

John shrugged out of Holmes' touch and turned around. John could see Holmes' light eyes glaring at him through the mask

"Now he needs to be punished!" Anderson cried, raising both of his hands and emitting flames from each. "Look at what he did to Dimmock!"

Dimmock was leaning against the wall, gasping for air and shooting daggers at John.

John saw Holmes swallow, but the man said nothing.

Now that John's rage was simmering down, he realized how badly he fucked up, but he stood his ground and let now signs show that he was nervous. His palms were sweating and fuck he wished he could bend. His stupid fucking temper had to get him into trouble. Why could he not mind his own damn business?

John took a deep breath, and waited for the pain to come.

* * *

**Don't worry, I won't hurt John. At least, I don't think I will. We'll see.**

**Also, in case you haven't noticed, it was kind of love-at-first-sight for Sherlock.**

**Please review!~**


	4. The Cooler

**Sorry for taking long to update. I started a new story about a month ago. I'm a mess :P**

**I watched both parts of "The Boiling Rock" the other day, and I had forgotten how well-written it was. I still can't believe how good that show was, in general.**

**Also, it feels kind of weird writing English names like "Sherlock" and "John" in a universe made up of characters of Asian descent/cultures. It kind of makes me giggle.**

**Enjoy!~**

* * *

"Throw him in the Cooler!"

The shout came from Holmes.

John opened his eyes and saw Anderson staring at him, still in a position to bend, flames still bright. His eyes slid away from John to look at Holmes. He was listening. Good sign.

"That's the punishment for people like him," Holmes continued, his voice calmer. "You really want to risk going against procedure? The warden may not like it."

The flames coming from from Anderson's palms disappeared. "Fine, but we should put him in there for extended time. Two hours ought to do it."

John hadn't heard of the Cooler before, but the name gave him a pretty good hint.

Dimmock was still leaning against the wall, but he didn't look as disheveled as before. "That won't be enough. This stubborn arse will just do it again."

"He'll misbehave whether or not you burn him," Holmes said.

John couldn't argue with that. He was still confused as to why Holmes was trying not to let him get burnt, but he wouldn't complain. He could think about that later. There was still a small crowd of prisoners watching, and John felt a little uncomfortable under their stares. "Just get this over with," he said.

The three guards glared at him.

"Isolation," Dimmock said.

John inhaled sharply. No. He could _not _handle that.

Holmes said nothing to this.

"Seems fair," Anderson said, crossing his arms and smirking at him. "And since _you," _he pointed at Holmes, "are you keen on controlling his punishment, maybe you should be the one to monitor him."

_Hell _no. John would not be able to handle isolation with only that man for company. "How is it isolation if I'm monitored?" John asked.

"We're not going to leave you by yourself all of the time, we're not stupid. You could try to escape."

"Why do I have to do it?" Holmes asked. "Why do I have to be punished for merely trying to keep things under control?"

" 'Cause you're already on probation," Dimmock said, "and you'll do what we tell you."

Probation? Well, that was interesting. Still, the thought of John being alone for the foreseeable future, with nothing to do but stare at the wall, was more terrifying than the threat of Firebending.

"Just burn me," John said, surprised when his voice came out slightly panicked. "You want to punish me? Fine. Make it quick and burn me."

That only made Dimmock laugh. "Hey, it looks like we've struck a nerve! Maybe this will be better than hurting him."

Fuck. He looked at Holmes, but the guard was staring ahead.

"We'll need to finalize this with the warden," Holmes said.

"Of course," Anderson nodded. He looked at the prisoners surrounding them. "What are you looking at? Show's over!"

They began to walk away, shooting sympathetic looks at John, which he hated. He watched the woman he helped walk away. He was still glad that she hadn't gotten hurt, but was starting to regret being the one to interfere. Then again, he did enjoy angering the guards.

"Time for the Cooler," Dimmock said, approaching John and taking out his handcuffs.

John let himself be handcuffed and was taken away by Anderson and Dimmock, their grips tight on his arms. John glanced back at Holmes and their eyes met, but Holmes looked away quickly.

_Why did you help me?_

John was taken down a hallway and was stopped in front of a door. Dimmock opened the red metal door to reveal another door, this time grey and seemingly heavier. When the door opened, the air from the room formed steam. He was pushed into the Cooler.

"The warden will deal with you soon," Dimmock said and shut the two doors.

The Cooler was smaller than his cell, only allowing John to stand up or sit down on the bench. Immediately, the cold air nipped at his skin and the name made perfect sense. He had two hours of this?

"Christ," he muttered and sat on the bench, putting his arms around himself. He'd been through worse. He could do this. In an odd way, the cool air slightly soothed his shoulder burn. That would probably fade soon. John huffed and saw his breath. There were icicles hanging on the ceiling. Leave it to the Fire Nation to be masters of torture.

John decided to think of Holmes since there was nothing else to do. What happened earlier was just plain odd. Scratch that: every time he interacted with Holmes had been odd. It was almost as if Holmes wanted to get his attention, or something, but that was stupid. He remembered Molly saying that he wasn't too bad. How did they know each other, anyway?

John started shivering. He curled in on himself, feeling his fingertips sting from the cold. He rubbed his hands together and blew his breath on them, but it didn't help much. He rested his forehead on his arms and closed his eyes, clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.

* * *

John couldn't tell how much time passed, but it must have been two hours because the doors opened. _Thank god! _John looked up, his teeth chattering audibly and his limbs shivering violently. He could barely feel his legs and hands.

There was a man staring down at him, looking amused. Some of his long, brown hair was up in a traditional ponytail on the top of his head, and the rest was hanging down. He was wearing a headband with a red and gold flame at his hairline. His sharp cheekbones combined with the lines around his mouth only made his face look narrow and old.

"Well, Captain Watson," he drawled, "do you know who I am?"

John wanted to say, _"I don't fucking care", _but he didn't have the strength, so he shook his head.

"I'm the warden of this fine establishment. You've already gotten into trouble, hm? Can't say I'm surprised. I've heard about you, your stubbornness and anger on the battlefield. I've heard what you've already done to my guard," he shook his head. "Unacceptable. You'll be put into isolation for one month."

John's heart sank. How would he keep his sanity?

"If you go after any of my guards again," he continued, "your isolation will be extended. Do I make myself clear?"

The desire to be defiant was outweighed by how damn cold and tired he was. John nodded.

"Good. You behave and you won't face any more problems in the future." The warden turned to someone outside of John's view. "Take him out."

John's brain screamed _Thank fuck, yes!_

A guard grabbed John's arms and pulled him to his feet. John spent so long curled up and shivering that he stumbled into the guard, his legs shaking violently. The warm air was a blessing on his skin and he couldn't hold back the relieved groan that came from his throat. He felt the guard's grip tighten on him.

"Look at me," the warden said.

John stared at the ground.

"Look, or back in the Cooler for another hour."

John looked up, giving the best glare he could muster. He was aware that his teeth were still chattering, the noise loud in the quiet hallway.

"No one has escaped from this prison," the warden said, "and I fully intend to keep it that way. If, after your isolation, you ever attempt to escape, you will suffer the consequences. You are powerless here, Watson. No earth to bend," he said with an oily smile.

John wanted to choke him with his headband.

"Take him to the cell, Holmes."

Oh, great. Holmes was the one holding his arm.

Holmes put handcuffs back on John and walked him to the cell. John stumbled along, the feeling coming back to his legs. The relief of being back in warm air made his body feel like lead. He needed a nap.

John was led to a cell at the far end of the hallway on the highest floor.

"Your new cell is here," Holmes answered his silent question. "It's where we keep the most dangerous prisoners."

"Most dangerous?" John asked, his teeth no longer chattering. "That's ridiculous."

"You did nearly kill a guard."

If John didn't know better, he would have thought that Holmes sounded impressed. "So, I'm not allowed to leave the cell. What about bathrooms?"

"There's a toilet in your cell," Holmes said. "You will be delivered meals three times a day. You'll have everything essential for survival."

"Great to know I won't die."

Holmes rolled his light eyes and opened the cell. "Get in."

John walked inside the cell. It was the same size as his old one, but it did have a toilet. The lack of sink was kind of gross, but whatever. It was the least of his concerns at this point.

Before Holmes closed the door, John said, "Wait."

Holmes stopped the door. "What?"

"You've been assigned to watch over me?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"How's that work?"

"I have to stand outside your cell door. I bring you your meals and can pop in any time to make sure you aren't up to trouble."

"How can I escape? This is all metal!"

"That's what I said, but it's the warden's rules."

John just sighed. "All right, then."

"Is that all?" Holmes asked impatiently.

John voiced what he had been mulling over during his time in the Cooler. "Why did you help me?"

"What are you talking about?" he frowned. "I didn't help you."

"Yes, you did," he retorted. "You prevented me from getting burned. You helped me. Why?"

Holmes turned his head to look at the wall and shrugged.

After a beat, John stared at him incredulously. "Is that your answer?"

"Yes," Holmes looked at him, his eyes narrowed.

John couldn't help but laugh. "That's the crappiest answer I've ever heard."

Holmes scowled. "I'm leaving."

"Thank you, by the way," John said. It pained him to thank a guard, but he had to give credit where credit was due. Isolation still sounded like torture, but looking back, he was really glad he didn't have another burn on top of the one on his shoulder. It looked like Anderson was aiming at his chest, too. That would have been agony.

Holmes' eyes widened. "Did you just thank me?"

"Yes," John said, "don't make me regret it."

Holmes blinked, then walked out of the cell, closing the door behind him.

So, so odd.

John collapsed on the mattress on his stomach. His burn was aggravated a little, but he was too tired to turn onto his back. The lumpy mattress felt like pure heaven. John closed his eyes, his thoughts starting to drift and float. Even though he denied it, Holmes did help him for some reason. John wondered if it was connected to the reason why Holmes was on probation.

Maybe Molly was right. Maybe he wasn't too bad. For a Fire Prick.

* * *

**The cells in the episode don't have toilets. Are the prisoners let out to go to the bathroom? Am I thinking too deeply about this? Whatever. I added a toilet because it makes sense.**

**I hate writing "Holmes" instead of "Sherlock". That will change soon.**

**By the way, here's what the warden looks like, if anyone forgot or doesn't know:**

** . /avatar/images/0/0f/Boiling_Rock_ /revision/latest?cb=20130118081320**

**Please review!~**


	5. Isolation

**Sorry that this chapter is a little shorter than usual, but I didn't want to drag it out. I was thinking about how long this story is going to end up; there will probably be around 10 chapters. Give or take a chapter. Maybe. I don't know. It depends on how quickly I run out of ideas. Plus, same goes for the story as I said about this chapter: I don't want to drag it out.**

* * *

John's first few days in isolation weren't that bad. His body was so worn out from being in the Cooler that he slept for the majority of the first two days, only waking when his meals were given to him. He was brought three meals, as Holmes said. The amount of food given to him was no less than when he was in a regular cell, so there was no loss there. When felt rested and was able to stay awake all day, it honestly felt nice to have some alone time. He probably wouldn't feel that way for long, but being away from everyone was refreshing. He should have felt bad for thinking that. He did want to talk to Molly, though. but everyone else could piss off.

By the fifth day, though, he dreamt again. He didn't remember what he dreamt, but it wasn't good. Maybe he dreamt of Mary, maybe he dreamt of his former soldiers. (He was ashamed that he didn't think of them at all over the past couple days). He was getting antsy. He walked around his cell, but it was so small that the action actually made him dizzy. He wanted to bend. He pounded his fist on the metal wall in frustration. He just needed a fucking rock. Just a pebble, for Christ's sake. A pebble to move around. That's all he wanted at this point. This is what he was reduced to: a man desperate for a pebble.

He braced his hands against the metal wall and put all of his strength into it, twisting his fingers and stomping his bare foot down in a bending position, but it didn't budge. He didn't know why he was trying.

If he couldn't bend, at least needed to exercise to blow off steam. John dropped to the floor and tried to do push-ups. He did ten push-ups rapidly, but it pained his shoulder and he paused, breathing heavily out his nose. His arm wobbled and the burn pulsed. John growled in frustration. He could do this. He's a bloody soldier. A captain. Of course he could do this. He pushed himself down towards the floor, then up, then down, and then his arm gave out and he fell to the floor with a thud.

"Fuck!"

"What are you doing?"

John rolled onto his back and saw Holmes with a tray of food in has hands. It must have been dinner time. "Leave the food and go," John ordered, his face hot. He was Captain John Watson of Omashu, damn it, and he was currently hurt on the floor. How humiliating.

Holmes set the tray of food down on the floor and his lips twitched. Was that bastard smiling? "Perhaps you should avoid putting pressure on your injury," he said.

"Shut up," John got to his feet, the burn hurting more from colliding with the hard floor. "Your job is to bring me food. Bravo, you did it. Leave."

Holmes sighed, sounding unimpressed. "You're just causing more pain for yourself."

"I didn't ask for your input," John snapped. "Why are you caring about another human being, anyway?"

"I don't care," he snarled, "I'm just stating the obvious."

"Hm, yeah, sure, just like you didn't help me the other day with those guards." It was odd to John, how Holmes denied helping him. He could understand why he did it in front of other guards, but they were alone. John figured he had nothing to lose and asked,"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Deny it?"

"I don't deny anything."

"We're going in circles."

Holmes swallowed and stepped closer to John. "My job is already on the line," he said lowly. "What am I supposed to do?"

John would have to ask him about that sometime. Now did not seem the time, though. "But, no one else is around," He pointed out, staring into Holmes' intense gaze.

"I shouldn't be doing this," he said in a fierce whisper. "I'm not supposed to get involved with prisoners."

"Aren't you friends with the Waterbender, Molly?"

"No!"

John stared at him.

"All right, maybe. No one must know."

"The other guards don't know?"

"No. I talk to her as briefly as possible."

"Why do you talk to her?"

"She's different. I knew her before."

"Before what, here?"

Holmes huffed in irritation. "This conversation is over."

He walked out of the room and shut the door with a bang.

For the first time, John was kind of disappointed to see him go. They were getting somewhere, and he was interested in the guy. Hell, he had nothing else to do or anyone else to talk to. Maybe learning more about him could occupy John.

John sat in front of the tray of food and ate, thinking.

* * *

The next morning, John was attempting to do push-ups again when Holmes brought him breakfast.

"Being dense again, I see?" he asked as he set the tray down.

"Absolutely," John rolled his eyes and got up. "So, what do you do when you leave here?"

"What do you mean?"

"After you drop off the food, what do you do?"

Holmes' nose scrunched up. "Why do you want to know?"

"I've been staring at the wall for days. Just looking for some human interaction."

Holmes eyed him warily. "I stand in front of your cell until my shift is over and someone else takes my place. Satisfied?"

"Don't you get bored standing out there?"

"Don't you get bored sitting in here?"

John felt himself smile. "Yeah. Got about three weeks to go, though."

"You're exercising to occupy yourself," Holmes said. It wasn't a question.

"No shit," John said. "Gotta keep my sanity somehow. But, it's not as bad as I thought it'd be."

Holmes made an odd face, or perhaps it was odd because half of his face was covered by the mask and helmet, and said, "A part of you is actually enjoying this. You _like _being away from people." He sounded perplexed.

"Er, kind of. Sometimes. I'd still rather not be here. I bet you'd rather not be standing outside the door all day."

"What do you think I'd want to do instead?"

"I don't know. Walk around, torture people, laugh triumphantly. Whatever it is you Firebenders do."

To John's astonishment, Holmes laughed. It wasn't a snort, or a huff, it was an actual _laugh,_ and a deep one at that, filling the small cell.

And, John just couldn't help it, he joined in with a chuckle, "What?"

"Aside from a few like Anderson and Dimmock, the only thing they really do is gossip about each other."

"Oh, and you're not included in that?"

"I prefer to observe from the sidelines."

Talking to Holmes like this was strangely pleasant. _He's still one of them,_ John's mind told him, but this one just seemed different from the others. He helped John, was friends with a Waterbender, and he seemed to be on probation, for whatever reason. John always thought that the Fire Nation children weren't bad people-simple brainwashed-but it was the first time he didn't utterly despise Fire Nation adult.

"What's your name?" John asked.

"You know my name: Holmes."

"No, I mean your first name."

He seemed surprised to hear that. "Oh...Sherlock."

"Sherlock," John tried the name on his tongue.

"You're John, yes? Captain John Watson."

"Yes," John nodded.

Holmes, no, Sherlock looked confused.

"You okay?" John asked.

"This is weird," Sherlock voiced his thoughts.

"I agree."

Sherlock took a few steps back and shut the cell door.

John raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Don't want to risk anyone hearing," he explained. "It's not appropriate for us to be on a first-name basis."

"You don't seem like the type to care, honestly."

Sherlock smirked. "You're right about that. Wats-John, I find myself interested in you."

Well, John didn't expect him to say that. "You are?"

Sherlock nodded, looking pained to have admitted such out loud. "Your will has been unbreakable during your time here, aside from after you were taken out of the Cooler a few nights ago when I saw you holding yourself back from the Warden, which is completely understandable, given your condition. Your willingness to put yourself quite literally into the line of fire for a complete stranger is simultaneously admirable and confusing. Although," he said more to himself, "it makes sense considering you fighting for your kingdom. Of course." Sherlock said all of that in a single breath. Impressive. He inhaled and talked again, "Most prisoners have their will to fight broken quickly, but yours has not. How?"

John wasn't sure how to answer that. "I suppose...That's given them what they want. The Warden and guards want that to happen. I won't let it. I'd rather cause the guards hell for the rest of my life than give in."

Sherlock hummed. "Interesting."

John frowned. "What, are you just interested because you're bored?"

"That's why you're talking to me right now."

Sherlock got him, there. "True."

"Look," Sherlock whispered, "between you and I, I don't care about this war. I just want it to be over."

A bubble of anger formed in John. "You don't care about the war? You don't care about the lives being lost?"

"That's not what I meant," Sherlock said.

John unclenched his fists. He didn't remember his hands forming fists, but he supposed to urge to punch a guard was a reflex at this point. "Then what are you saying?"

"I mean I don't care about winning."

John could have fainted. "You don't? You're a Firebender!"

"And I'm not an idiot!" his deep voice was loud in the cell. He whispered again, "I don't want to win because I disagree with the Fire Lord. I'm getting off topic and I should leave soon. The point is that I'm stuck monitoring you, and you're stuck in here for three more weeks. We can relieve each other's boredom."

John's mind was still stuck on the fact that a Fire Bender disagreed with the Fire Lord and didn't want to win. He would have to talk to him about that later. "Okay."

Sherlock looked pleased. "I should leave. People will become suspicious."

John nodded and picked up the tray of food he'd ignored. "You shouldn't spend this much time in here with every meal you deliver."

"I agree. I'll only do this once a day."

"Okay."

Sherlock abruptly turned and went out of the cell, closing the door behind him.

_Still so odd, _John thought as he ate his food. Odd, but not bad. John really wanted to talk to Sherlock about how he came to become a guard in the Boiling Rock while disagreeing with the Fire Lord. He would ask him tomorrow, or perhaps the next day. John found himself looking forward to it, and crushed the feeling while he finished his breakfast.

* * *

**God, it feels so good to write Sherlock's name instead of "Holmes". Still feels odd writing the English names in the world deeply rooted in Eastern Asian cultures.**

**Please review!~**


	6. Conversations and John's Realization

**I just realized I'm 6 chapters into this thing and they don't know a lot about each other or touched much yet. I really don't know how long this will be. But, I thank you for putting up with the fact that they haven't kissed yet :D**

* * *

The next morning, John woke up from a nightmare, his heart pounding. He sat up on the mattress and rubbed his eyes, resting his head in his hands for a minute. Even though he couldn't remember what was in it, it was enough to leave him shaken. He felt frustrated because he never suffered from nightmares before, but it seemed like he had them almost every night here. Why was he able to sleep well when he was actually on the battlefield? It was also odd to him how he remembered his nightmares vividly when he first got there, but now he could barely piece anything together. He wondered if the nightmares would plague him until he got out of the prison, or if they would follow him home. After he calmed down a little, he decided to try exercising again. He didn't want to sit and mull over his possibly deteriorating mental health.

Push-ups still hurt terribly, but sit-ups were doable. It put strain on his shoulder, but he gritted his teeth and kept going. The floor was hard against him, his back and tailbone hurting. He breathed heavily through his mouth, ignoring his wobbling shoulder, sweat breaking out on his forehead. He got to his thirty-sixth push up and found that his shoulder was too weak to do another. He let his head fall to the floor (not a good idea) and glared at the ceiling. He used to be able to do fifty sit-ups practically in his sleep. He couldn't even make it to forty. He hated feeling like an invalid. He went back to his mattress and lay on his back with a huff.

He turned his head when the door opened and Sherlock stepped in, tray of food in hand. Sherlock merely looked at him, set the tray down, nodded, and left. John felt the smallest prickle of disappointment. He knew that Sherlock had to be careful and not spend a lot of time with him, as it would get them both in trouble, but he just wanted something to do besides stare at the wall. He tried not to think about bending. It was impossible for him to do it, so there was no point in upsetting himself. He always loved being an Earthbender, but he wished he could Waterbend. He could probably bend with his sweat. Or piss. Had Molly ever tried that? Once he got out of isolation, he would tell her about it. If he couldn't escape, he at least wanted to help her. It was definitely gross, but they were all desperate. Hell, he'd do it if he could.

Sherlock brought his lunch without a word, but things changed with dinner. Sherlock gave John the tray and shut the door behind him. "Our time is short, so come up with something interesting to discuss," he said sharply.

"Nice to see you, too," John said around the mouthful of noodles he dove into. They gave enough food for three mouthfuls at best and he should savor his food, but he always had a tendency to eat like a pig.

Sherlock grimaced. "Don't talk with your mouth full."

"Oh, sorry. I forgot you're a posh snob."

Sherlock crossed his arms. "I don't have to put up with this."

"You know I wasn't serious, right? Well," he snickered, "not entirely."

Sherlock's shoulders relaxed by a fraction. "Oh. Yes. Of course I knew that."

John didn't know if he should feel irritated or amused. "You're the one who went on about wasting time. Got something to talk about, or can I eat my food in peace?"

Sherlock's upper lip twitched. "Oh, please, as if you aren't craving human interaction. Without me, your only company is the wall."

John shrugged, eating the last of his noodles. "At least the wall doesn't make faces at me." Perhaps John was getting too much pleasure in annoying Sherlock. "Come on, talk to me," he said quickly, leaning against the wall and crossing his ankles.

Sherlock looked like he was thinking about leaving for a second, but then he asked, "Do you think the Avatar will succeed?"

The question completely zapped the light, teasing mood. "I-" John cut himself off. Sherlock said he didn't care about his side winning the war, but he wasn't sure how much he could get away with saying. _Ah, fuck it. _"He might. I was shocked to hear that he's alive. But, then again, he is just a kid."

"His age is irrelevant if he masters the four elements," Sherlock pointed out.

"I suppose. Do you want the Avatar to win?"

"Yes," Sherlock said instantly.

John's eyebrows shot up. Even though Sherlock hinted at it yesterday, the admission was still shocking.

Sherlock walked to the cell door, looked out of the small window, and walked closer to John, lowering his voice. "The Fire Lord is wrong. We're no better than the other nations. Everyone is equally dense."

A laugh barked out of John and surprised them both.

"Shh, you can't laugh!" Sherlock scolded.

"Sorry," he said. "It's just...I don't know what I was expecting you to say, but that definitely wasn't it."

Sherlock grinned. "Well, I was speaking the truth." Now that Sherlock wasn't being a colossal dick, he was actually kind of likable.

With an attitude and mouth like Sherlock's, it was a wonder how his views hadn't been discovered. In fact, "Is this why you're on probation?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No one knows I feel this way, except for you and Molly. If they did, I'd be a prisoner, too. No, I'm on probation because I have no desire to use force on prisoners and formed a bond with Molly."

"If they found out we're talking like this?"

"Fired and imprisoned, I imagine," he said simply.

"You don't seem too bothered by this."

Sherlock folded his hands behind his back. "Sozin's comet is approaching. The Avatar will face him then. If he wins, this prison will fall."

"How do you know the Avatar will fight him then?"

"It's obvious," Sherlock said, sounding exasperated.

"If you say so. I hope you're right." Sherlock's words did reassure him somehow, even though he could be completely wrong. He shouldn't trust the words of a stranger, but Sherlock's confidence was contagious. He sensed the conversation was over, so he decided to go back to the lighter mood from a minute ago. "Do you have to wear that helmet everywhere?"

Sherlock looked unimpressed. "That's the best you can come up with?"

"Just answer the question."

"Technically: yes. Practically: no. We can take them off when the prisoners and warden isn't around."

"Like wearing it?" It was a weak conversation and John knew it. He always hated small talk.

"I hate it. I get the worst helmet hair," he grumbled.

John snorted. "Oh really? You worried about impressing some female guard and her being turned off by your hair?"

Sherlock looked disgusted. "John, please."

"Or are you trying to impress some bloke?"

"John!" Sherlock looked positively outraged.

John chuckled. "Don't have a heart attack, Sherlock." It occurred to John how fucking _weird _this was. Their conversation flowed nicely, as if they were friends. It worried him slightly how easy it was to talk to Sherlock. He remained a member of the Fire Nation, although he just proved that he was different. Or, maybe there were more like him. John didn't really feel like evaluating his prejudice at the moment. Aside from that, it was still strange. He only knew Sherlock's first name for a day. He didn't even know what he looked like under that mask and helmet.

Sherlock was staring at him. "What are you thinking?"

"Nothing," John said. "Just, it's kind of odd. I don't even know what you look like under all that," he pointed to the helmet. It was half of the truth, at least. John could half-lie easily. No way was he going to tell Sherlock that things felt _friendly _between them.

"Do you want to?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"Want to?"

Sherlock's pressed his lips together. "Know. What I look like."

"Oh." John felt a tingle in his chest. The question felt intimate. He mentally kicked himself. They weren't intimate. But, Sherlock was asking to reveal himself. It _was _intimate in that sense. John shouldn't have felt so affected by this. "If you want to."

"I'm asking _you _if you want to," Sherlock said quickly.

"It's your helmet."

"I'm just asking."

"And I'm saying it's your choice." He cleared his throat. "I am a bit curious."

Sherlock looked wary, and for a minute, the cell was silent. He then nodded with determination. "I shared my treasonous views with you. I suppose showing you my face is the least harmful thing I could do."

"True."

"Also, I've seen your face every day. It's only fair," he reasoned. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

John mused that Sherlock could just lift the mask if he wanted, but he kind of wanted to see the supposed helmet hair, so he kept quiet.

Sherlock took off his helmet and John's heart sped up.

Sherlock looked so _young, _despite the unusually sharp cheekbones. He was pale, like most members of the Fire Nation, and he had a small mole above his eyebrow. While John was always able to see his eyes, seeing them unobstructed by the mask made a huge difference. His eyes had a small, odd slant to them, but they were blue-grey (didn't all Fire Nation citizens have brown eyes?). His gaze was even more intense without the mask and John felt pinned under it. Sherlock's eyebrows were wispy and lighter than his hair, which looked black in the dim light of the cell. Sherlock had thick, full curls that were flattened slightly by the helmet. He was...gorgeous. John felt gobsmacked.

Sherlock was biting his pink lips. "John, you've been staring at me for twenty seconds."

John released a breath he didn't know he held. "Sorry. Well, er, you don't really have helmet hair. It's a little flat, but, um, it's fine." Stutter like an idiot for no reason. Great work, John. Just make the moment more uncomfortable.

Sherlock ran his hand through his hair and ruffled his curls.

_Oh god. _Fuck. John gulped and looked away. "You can put the helmet back on now."

Sherlock looked...hurt? (What the fuck?!) The expression was jarring. Guards weren't supposed to look hurt. Did he look like this before, but John didn't know because of the mask?

Sherlock put his helmet on again, the mask down. "I should leave. I've been here long enough."

"Sherlock-"

"We'll talk tomorrow."

"Sherlock," John grabbed his wrist, and the two froze.

Sherlock inhaled sharply, but didn't move. His skin was warm beneath John's fingers and his pulse was beating heavily against John's thumb.

John let go. "Sorry. I shouldn't have-I just wanted to say that it was nice to see you."

Sherlock was still. His eyes roamed John's face. He nodded and walked out of the cell, shutting the door behind him.

John threw himself on the mattress, ignoring the pain on his shoulder. What the hell was that? Why the hell did Sherlock give him that look when John told him to put the helmet back on? What had he expected John to say, to do? What, did he expect John to compliment his appearance or something?

The more disturbing fact was that John actually found Sherlock _attractive_. He thought of his sister. She would lock him in a mental institution if she found out he was attracted to a Fire Nation guard. But _god, _was he handsome. John hadn't felt that way about a man in years. He didn't enjoy it. He'd felt _lust. _He'd wanted to grab Sherlock's sweaty curls and shove him against a wall. John absolutely ignored the twitch in his cock. It wasn't like he could do anything with Sherlock if he tried. Sherlock would probably throw him in the Cooler. The new emotions rising to the surface for this man that John hardly knew were swirling, making him feel sick. John couldn't blame Sherlock for this. It wasn't his fault that he was attractive. Or interesting. It just baffled John how the two of them got along so well earlier. As much as a part of John didn't want to see Sherlock again so he could erase his feelings, he wanted to continue their secret meetings. He wanted to know him, maybe become friends. John shook his head. Just a few weeks ago he hated Sherlock with a burning passion.

No, he never hated Sherlock. He hated his _failure, _the fact that he was captured, and took it out on Sherlock. A part of it was because he was prejudiced, but John was still in no mood to examine that. He closed his eyes. He would continue talking to Sherlock because he was getting lonely and he kind of liked the guy as a person, but he would have to hide his lust.

Easy enough. No problem.

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**John can't take Sherlock's hotness. I'm not going to write John having a sexual identity crisis because I think there's enough angst going on, lol.**

**Please review!~**


	7. Friends?

**I need to address something that was brought to my attention: the relationship between John and Sherlock is COMPLETELY consensual. I'm not calling out the person who suggested otherwise, but please know that I do NOT write dubcon or noncon. I wouldn't do that to either of them.**

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John was determined not to let things awkward between him and Sherlock. He was not going to screw up the only chance he had for human interaction because he had a hard time keeping it in his pants. He wasn't a bloody teenager. He had self-control. He was a soldier, for God's sake. He was the picture of discipline. His sleeping mind had less control, however. He woke up that morning with his sweat broken out over his forehead from a dream, but he was certain it had nothing to do with memories of war. He could only recall fuzzy images of his hand grabbing dark, messy curls. It didn't take a genius to figure out who the curls belonged to.

John had been secretly worried that Sherlock wouldn't stick around because of that weird encounter yesterday, but just like before, Sherlock closed the door behind him at dinner.

"Hello," John said and took the tray of food.

Sherlock gave him a stiff nod of acknowledgement, his lips pressing together tightly, "John."

John wanted Sherlock to take off his helmet again, but it would probably be wise to strike up a conversation first and make him more comfortable. "I was wondering," he said through bites of food, not missing the look of disgust Sherlock gave him, "about your job."

Sherlock made a questioning sound in his throat and John was able to see him raise an eyebrow under the mask.

"Why are you here? You said you don't agree with the Fire Nation's views, so why get a job at a place that holds prisoners of war?"

"My brother got me the job," he grumbled. "He knows how I feel, and feared that if I did not add to the war effort, it would arouse suspicion. It was either this, being on the front line, or holding some insufferable government position like he does."

"How high up is your brother?"

"I don't even know. I barely pay attention to his life. He knows the royal family, I know that much."

So Sherlock came from a posh background. Not surprising. "How does he feel about the war?"

"Indifferent, mostly."

A spike of anger made John's lip twitch. "Indifferent at all the lives being lost?"

"He doesn't care much about anything," Sherlock said.

"Sounds like a bastard." It occurred to John that he could have just deeply offended a prison guard, but he was caring less and less about potential punishment lately.

Sherlock didn't seem fazed. "He is."

His reaction cooled John's anger. "How'd your brother feel if he knew this," he waved his hand and gestured between them, "was happening?"

"Disappointed but not surprised," he said. "He knows I've always had a weakness for the brave type."

A tingling feeling entered John's gut. "Was...was that an indirect compliment?"

Sherlock scoffed, "Please-"

"No," John stood from his mattress, abandoning the food. "It was."

Sherlock scoffed. "You're horribly mistaken."

"No, I've got everything crystal clear," he crossed his arms. He wasn't going to let Sherlock get away with this. "You said your brother wouldn't be surprised that you're talking to me because you have a, and I quote, 'weakness for the brave type.' That obviously means me."

Sherlock opened his mouth, snapped it shut, opened it again, worked his mouth silently, then settled on forming a tiny smile. "I'm impressed, John. You were able to keep up with a conversation. Excellent."

"Thanks a lot, you wanker." In another situation, John would have playfully shoved his shoulder, but there were limits. Besides, shoving Sherlock's shoulder might lead to other inappropriate physical contact.

Sherlock's eyes were boring into his.

John felt pinned. He forced his eyes to tear away from Sherlock's. They flickered down to Sherlock's lips. Bad idea. God, he couldn't remember the last time he kissed someone. The last person he kissed was Mary, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

"John," the plump lips curved around his name.

"Sherlock?"

"You want to see my face again."

John licked his lips, but remained silent and breathed deeply. Was he really that transparent?

Sherlock didn't need a response. He took off his helmet and shook out his hair, little droplets of sweat flying. It must have been hot under that thing. His hair had a little more volume than it did yesterday, though.

Seeing Sherlock's sharp cheekbones, wispy eyebrows, and messy curls did nothing to quell John's lust.

"Why do you want to see me?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know," John lied. "I just do. Why did you get upset yesterday when I said you could put your helmet back on?"

Sherlock's handsome features scrunched up. "I wasn't upset."

"You seemed offended."

"I thought my face displeased you."

"You want your face to please me?"

"Not what I meant."

Their voices had become quieter and quieter, down to a near whisper. This conversation was going down the wrong path. John's skin was hot and his palms were sweating. _Control yourself._

Sherlock cast his eyes downward. "John, I find myself more drawn to you by the day."

John's heart sped up. _Why, lord? _"You, uh, mentioned something like that a few days ago."

"It's getting worse." He looked up. "Finding someone so interesting and similar in beliefs has not happened before. I don't know what this is."

John felt a little indignant, feeling like Sherlock's occupation for the day. But, they had agreed to talk solely to keep each other occupied. But, really looking at Sherlock now without the helmet and mask, John could tell that wasn't it, at least not entirely. He didn't want to be presumptuous. He straightened his spine, and old habit he used to feel confident derived from being on the shorter side. He decided to go for it, "It's...It's called friendship, Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

John had the feeling he'd gotten it right. Sherlock would have probably yelled if he got it wrong.

"Friends?"

"I think so," John said slowly. Sexual desires aside, John was really growing to like him. To hell with it: he _did _like him. He wished he talked to Sherlock sooner. He remembered how Sherlock stared at him a lot before he was put into isolation. He'd thought it was creepy, then, but maybe Sherlock just wanted to start a conversation and didn't know how. It still felt so fucking weird that he was considering the possibility that he was friends with a guard. He wished they could have met outside of this hellhole.

Sherlock was processing John's words. "We're friends."

"I guess. I don't know how else to describe this."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, that seems to be a plausible assessment. This could be dangerous," his voice deepened to a rumble.

A tiny thrill went through John. "It was dangerous before, wasn't it? We just put a name to it."

Sherlock nodded again, still processing, blinking.

He looked so jarringly lost that John wanted to reassure him. "Think of this as a small way to stick it to your brother, yeah?"

That made Sherlock smile. "Yes." His eyes softened. "He would despise you."

That made John smile, too. "That's a nice thought."

Sherlock snorted, then the smile faded slightly. "Is this normal?"

"Nothing is normal about this situation."

"No, I mean we've only been talking like this for, what, nearly a week? Are friendships supposed to form this quickly?"

Well, that told John all he needed to know about Sherlock's life outside of work. "They can." He felt a little guilty. Sherlock's view of their relationship was almost innocent, and there John was, ready to suck that pretty neck. What a bloody pig he was. He was technically still in a relationship. Kind of.

"We should shake hands," Sherlock blurted out.

John looked at him in surprise. "What?"

"Isn't that what friends do?"

_Not always, _John wanted to say, but he had an opportunity to touch Sherlock. He wasn't stupid enough to let that pass. He held out his hand.

Sherlock looked down at John's hand for a solid seven seconds. He slowly held out his hand and took John's in his own.

His hand was large, large and warm, but not sweaty like John's. His skin felt surprisingly soft. John thought about how, if he wanted to, Sherlock could make fire burst from that very palm.

They shook hands five times before dropping their arms to their sides. It was one of the strangest things to happen to John, to be frank. Kind of pleasant. Entirely strange.

Sherlock seemed to snap out of something. "Perhaps I should leave."

John let his brain win over his desires, "Perhaps you should. People might start looking for you."

Sherlock put the helmet back on and slid the mask down. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see you."

Sherlock left, the cell door shutting loudly behind him.

John sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I'm in deep shit," he said to the empty cell. Friends. He never thought he'd end up here. He had nineteen days left in isolation. Nineteen days of hiding his god damned lust. Nineteen days of talking to Sherlock. A part of him wanted to continue his new friendship with Sherlock, but he hated being in this small room. Sherlock was the only good thing about this punishment. He fucking _hated _being contained. It wasn't so bad at first, but he felt like he was going to burst sometimes.

Now was one of those times. Sherlock's absence combined with sexual frustration made John stir crazy.

John slammed his hands against the metal wall, putting all of his strength into it, willing the wall to bend. His hands shook, fingers twisting. Of course, it didn't work. He just ended up with sore knuckles. He stomped down in the position to bring up a rock from the ground only to be painfully reminded that nothing would come of it. He just wanted to get the fuck out of there. Not just out of the cell, but out of the fucking prison. His friendship with Sherlock eased his anger and anxiety slightly, but not enough that he wanted to stay. He wondered what it would be like to know Sherlock outside of here. He doubted he would ever know.

John gave up trying to bend the metal and slumped to the floor, not caring enough to crawl over to his mattress. His shoulder was going to make him pay for it tomorrow.

He looked up at the ceiling. He had nineteen days. Maybe, if he was very careful, he could test the waters with Sherlock. There could have been a slim chance Sherlock had similar feelings. At this point, he didn't think Sherlock would burn him as punishment for stepping out of line in any way. If things would completely backfire, he could just avoid Sherlock once he was out of this cell. It was worth a try. After all, he had time to kill.

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**This story is honestly getting difficult to write. I don't think it's going to be much longer. I just want them to fuck already.**

**Please review!~**


	8. Finally Getting It On

**I think this is the longest chapter I've written for this story. I can't promise to write longer chapters in the future, but I'll try!**

**Sorry for the late update. School started.**

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John smiled when Sherlock entered and shut the door behind him. "Hello."

"Hello," Sherlock nodded and held out the tray. "Here."

John took it and sat on the mattress like he always did, but he wasn't interested in food at the moment. Last night, he'd been thinking about how to change their friendship into something more. It would all be pointless if Sherlock already had a partner outside of the Boiling Rock, so he might as well find out if Sherlock were single before taking any steps further. He needed to bring it up casually.

He should start the conversation lightly. "Not taking off your helmet today?"

Sherlock put on a sigh and took it off, dropping it on the floor with a clatter. "Satisfied?"

"Very." _Very satisfied indeed_, John thought, his eyes landing on those damp curls he would just love to grab and pull. _Down, boy. _

Sherlock froze for a moment and John thought he went too far or perhaps said that aloud, but Sherlock relaxed.

John ate his food like he did every other day, trying not to give anything away. "How's your day been?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "You never ask me that."

Shit. He really did notice everything. "I was just wondering. You know how my day's been. I've been in here all day."

Sherlock still looked suspicious. "My day has been average."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Neither. Just average."

"Erm, okay." Sherlock was shite at small talk. Time for the next phase of the conversation. "Ever miss the outside world?"

"Sometimes," Sherlock admitted, "though probably not as much as you."

"Probably not. But, still. There have to be people you miss."

"Not really."

"No one?"

"Well," Sherlock thought about it, "perhaps my parents, on occasion."

"'On occasion'," John chuckled. "I see. No friends?"

Sherlock gave him an odd look. "Friends?"

"Yeah, Sherlock, friends."

"Besides yourself, I have none."

Okay, that was a bit sad. "Molly's your friend."

"Friendly acquaintance, John," he corrected.

"Even so," John frowned, "no one outside of here?"

"No. Don't pity me," Sherlock scowled.

"I'm not." He was. Although, it wasn't difficult to imagine why Sherlock had no friends. John couldn't stand him for a while. He cleared his throat, "So, no friends or girlfriends, boyfriends?"

"Of course not," Sherlock scoffed. "Why would you think I have a significant other if I have no friends?"

Sherlock's flippant attitude towards this made it seem like he had just grown to accept not having friends, which made John feel more sorry for him. Sherlock would hate him if he said that. "I see your point."

Sherlock stared at him. He took a few steps closer, invading John's personal space. He leaned down so he was eye-level with John, the heat of his body feeling dangerously intimate. He stared at John for a long moment, pale eyes sharply searching his. "You have a girlfriend."

John swallowed. He felt like an awful fuck for forgetting about that. "Yeah, how do you-"

"Do you miss her?" Sherlock's voice cut in like a knife. "Do you?" he repeated, just as sharply.

John stared right back at Sherlock, refusing to be intimidated. But...he didn't. He didn't miss Mary anymore. His memories of his girlfriend were fading, and here he was not feeling very sorry about it and wanting to fuck a prison guard.

But, he was a changed man since his imprisonment. He wasn't the John Watson she knew. No one back home knew him now. Perhaps they wouldn't last. He can't imagine wanting to settle down and have children now, like he wanted before. Perhaps she got tired of waiting and decided to cheat. That would make the break up easier. _I'm a terrible person._

"No," he told Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyebrows raised by a fraction, surprised. "No?"

"No."

Sherlock blinked. "Oh." He didn't put distance between them.

And fuck, it suddenly felt easy, with Sherlock so close like this, to continue. "Why did you want to know, Sherlock?" John asked quietly.

"Why did you want to know about me? My relationships?"

John licked his lips and, glory hallelujah, Sherlock's eyes darted down to see it. "Since you act like you've got all the answers, you tell me," John said in a whisper.

Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek. "I don't like to draw a conclusion without evidence," he said in a quiet, lovely rumble.

John raised his eyebrow suggestively. "No evidence? You sure about that?"

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed and he looked pained. "John, I fear the consequences of being wrong."

"If anyone has to fear that, it's me. You are technically my superior. You can punish me for stepping out of line."

Sherlock's face switched to confusion. "You think I would do that?"

God, was he actually offended? "I don't think so," John said. "I-no. You wouldn't."

"I wouldn't," Sherlock confirmed. "I thought you knew that by now."

"I do. It's just, technically, you can."

Sherlock shook his head. "I couldn't, John."

"Why?" John leaned forward, their lips centimeters apart, the hair on the back of his neck standing up in anticipation. "Why, Sherlock?"

Sherlock released a shuddering breath, which John felt on his skin. "Because I am irrevocably fond of you and grow more so by the day," he said, his voice breaking.

John moved a fraction and that was all it took for their lips to finally connect. Sherlock's lips were just as soft as they looked. They were still with shock, but pressed back after a long moment, firm but with a hint of hesitation. John felt a small tug of lust, but it was currently being outweighed by the emotion ignited by Sherlock's tone. John never heard him like that before. He needed to make sure Sherlock was okay with this.

He broke their small kiss. "Sherlock, you all right?"

Sherlock's eyes were closed and his eyebrows were furrowed, making him look pained again.

"Talk to me," John gripped his shoulder.

Sherlock opened his eyes, which seemed bluer than usual. "I don't know what to do," he blurted out.

"Did I misinterpret?" John asked. He was sure that he didn't, but he had to ask.

"No," Sherlock said urgently, his voice loud in the cell. He looked down at the floor. "No," he lowered his voice.

John realized that the whole time, Sherlock had been leaning down with his hands on his knees. "For god's sake, sit down," he pushed Sherlock down onto the mattress by the shoulder.

Sherlock sank down, bouncing slightly. He straightened his spine and clasped his hands together, squeezing them, and stared ahead. "I don't think I can hold myself back if we continue," he said to the wall.

_Fuck. Yes. _Now that he knew for sure that Sherlock wanted him, John had no problem putting his hand on Sherlock's thigh.

Sherlock looked down at John's hand, then up at John, then down at his hand again. "John?"

Sherlock was nervous. A Fire Nation prison guard was nervous. Because of him. John would have been a liar if he said he didn't enjoy the thought a tiny bit. But, Sherlock's tense demeanor concerned him.

John brushed his lips against the shell of Sherlock's ear. "I don't want you to hold back," he murmured, seeing Sherlock's shiver. His blood was heating in his veins. "Will you let me take you?"

Sherlock turned his face and brought their lips together with more force than last time. John wasted no time; he parted his lips and deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist. The feeling of Sherlock's body in his arms nearly knocked the wind out of him. He hadn't realized how much he'd wanted to do that. John moved his lips to suck Sherlock's bottom lip and Sherlock groaned quietly. John's cock twitched and he lowered Sherlock onto the mattress, hands pinning Sherlock's wrists.

He broke the kiss for air and was met with Sherlock's wide eyes.

"Okay?" John asked breathlessly.

Sherlock nodded. "We have little time."

That completely broke the mood. John's hold on Sherlock's wrists gentled, but he didn't let go. "Do you have to leave?"

"It's towards the end of my shift before the night staff stand guard, so no one will be looking for me. But, I should be out before the night staff take their positions."

"How much time?"

"Fifteen minutes at the most."

John smirked. "We can finish before fifteen minutes, guaranteed."

Sherlock-god-he _flushed. _A rosey pink spread over his cheekbones and it was the single hottest thing John had ever seen. John smashed his lips against Sherlock's, diving right in and rocking their hips together. He was positively delighted to feel a bulge against his. John rocked against him again, muffling Sherlock's grunt in his mouth.

"John," Sherlock said through their kisses, "John."

"Hm?"

"Don't we need to be nude?"

John snorted. "Good idea."

Their limited time looming over them, Sherlock and John stripped as fast as they could. John kicked his dirty prison rags across the room and looked back at Sherlock. He was _magnificent. _His skin was pale with freckles and moles here and there, his body lean and muscular, and his cock long and erect. John pinned Sherlock down again with a growl, attacking Sherlock's neck. John bit and sucked the sensitive skin at the juncture where Sherlock's neck met his shoulder, thrusting his hips against Sherlock's, their cocks sliding together.

Sherlock gasped and writhed deliciously against John. He tilted his hips up and wrapped his large, warm hand around both of them, causing the pair to moan. His grip was a little dry, but John didn't give a shit. Sherlock wrapped his legs around John's waist and panted, slapping his hand over his mouth to quiet down. John wished he could hear Sherlock moan freely. He idly wondered if he ever could, but the thought quickly vanished with his building pleasure.

John buried his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck and kept thrusting steadily, a bead of precome forming on the head of his prick. He hadn't felt pleasure like this in so long. His whole body was being taken by it, toes curling. His balls were beginning to tighten and-was he really that close already? Well, it had been a long time…

"Sherlock," he groaned. "God, Sherlock, I'm not going to last."

Sherlock shook his head, whimpering into his palm.

John didn't want to come first. So, he moved his head down and planted his mouth on Sherlock's hard, pink nipple and sucked hard.

John felt a burst of liquid between them, and it took him an ridiculously long moment to realize that Sherlock was coming, eyes screwed shut, letting out one long, muffled moan. (So, Sherlock liked his nipples touched. Got it.)

Just hearing Sherlock make those sounds in that fucking voice and feeling him come made waves of pleasure tingle through John's body, and he was coming, too. He buried his cry in Sherlock's neck as his thrusts died down and he lay against Sherlock's hot, sweaty body.

John breathed deeply, catching his breath, and wrapped his arm around Sherlock's heaving chest, the need for post-coital physical contact kicking in. But, no. He couldn't do that with Sherlock, could he?

He sat up on his elbows. "Okay?"

Sherlock was having a more difficult time getting his breathing back to normal, but he didn't seem to be on the verge if a panic attack, so John wasn't worried. Sherlock nodded, eyes glossy and curls a mess. John noticed that Sherlock's blush spread from his cheekbones down to his chest. If he hadn't just come, he was sure that would have turned him on.

Sherlock slowly reached out his hand and cupped John's cheek, taking him completely by surprise. John blinked and felt his face heat up. "Sherlock?"

"John," he said quietly. "I…" He trailed off.

"Yeah?" John prompted patiently.

"I wish I could stay," he said.

John put his hand over Sherlock's. "Yeah," his voice with thick, "me, too." He remembered their time limit. "Any idea how much time passed?"

"Three minutes and twenty-nine seconds."

John laughed. "You can keep track of time during sex?"

"Apparently," Sherlock smirked.

John felt a giggle bubble in his throat. "Three minutes and twenty-nine seconds. Wow."

"Is that bad?"

"It's a bit quick." John was getting the impression that Sherlock wasn't very experienced, but considering that he had no partners or friends, it made sense. "Oh god," a thought dawned on John, "I didn't just take your virginity, did I?"

Sherlock rolled his head to the side, looking away. "Maybe."

That accounted for how quickly he came. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would it have made a difference?"

"Yes! Well, under normal circumstances, yeah, but I don't know-"

"This isn't a normal circumstance," Sherlock said. He looked back at John, a small smile playing at his lips. "Besides, my first time being in a prison cell? I wouldn't have it any other way."

John couldn't stop the giggles that burst from him.

"Shh!" Sherlock scolded through a giggle of his own.

"Sorry," John tried to quiet down. "Sorry. You're a nutter."

"Thank you."

John rolled his eyes. "How much time left?"

"Eleven minutes and six seconds."

John nodded and hummed, thumb stroking over Sherlock's hand, which was making his cheek a little too warm, but he didn't mind much. He was reminded again of how Sherlock could Firebend right now and burn have face completely. He was in the arms of danger, and it sent a thrill through John.

Or, it would have, if Sherlock's hair weren't so rumpled. It looked cute. Sherlock Fucking Holmes looked cute. John smoothed Sherlock's soft curls away from his forehead.

Sherlock's eyes were soft, but then he looked away from John's face and frowned deeply.

Puzzled, John followed Sherlock's gaze. Sherlock was looking at his shoulder. John sat up and held it self-consciously.

"Don't," Sherlock said, sitting up as well. "I-John, does it hurt?" He spoke again before John could reply, "Of course it must hurt, stupid question."

"You knew about this, why are you surprised?" he muttered.

"Seeing it is different," Sherlock said. "I hadn't realized it was this severe."

"It's better than it was. It's healing."

"I hate the man that did this to you," he said fiercely.

John laughed humorlessly, "I do, too." He looked down at Sherlock's beautiful body, and suddenly felt awful about his own.

Sherlock must have sensed something off, because he scooted behind John on the mattress and wrapped his arms around him, resting his chin on John's uninjured shoulder. He placed a shy kiss on the side of John's neck. For all of his harsh words and scowls, Sherlock was tentative and caring. John almost felt unsettled by this side of Sherlock he hadn't seen before.

John uncovered his wound and sighed deeply. "How much longer?"

"Nine minutes and thirty-nine seconds." His arms tightened slightly. His arms tightened slightly. "I should leave now, though. It's best that way."

"Okay," John said with disappointment.

"Can we do this again?" Sherlock asked.

"I was planning to."

Sherlock hummed a laugh. "Excellent." His arms slowly unwound from John's body. He got up from the mattress and looked at the semen on his stomach. He grimaced and tried wiping it with his hand.

"Good job," John said.

Sherlock grumbled under his breath and began putting on his uniform over the mess. "You're not getting dressed?"

John looked at his clothes on the floor. "I'm not too eager to get back into those filthy clothes."

"Ah," Sherlock said and picked up his helmet.

"Hold on," John rose to his feet. He stood on his toes and kissed Sherlock chastely. He smiled at Sherlock's confused expression. "Now you can put it on."

Sherlock smiled, too, and put on the helmet, sliding the mask down. "Again tomorrow?"

"You bet your arse." For good measure, John smacked Sherlock's supple arse.

Sherlock's jaw dropped. "John!"

John enjoyed seeing Sherlock flustered. It was adorable, and gave him a tiny sense of power. "Tomorrow, yeah. I've got plans for this," he squeezed Sherlock's arse.

Sherlock gasped and smacked John's hand away, poorly hiding his smile. "Filthy man."

With that, Sherlock left.

John lay on the mattress and stared at the ceiling, a cocky grin on his face. This was going to be fun.

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**Ugh, they're FINALLY together. God, it felt good to write this. I hope the progression didn't seem too quick, but I was getting so sick of the unresolved tension.**

**Please review!~**


	9. A Nightmare and New Ability

**Guys, I know this sounds thirsty as fuck, but I'm going to try to post some of my art on my tumblr. If you could check out my blog (a-lollipop-tries-to-draw), I would be really grateful. I really don't like to do this, but I don't know how else to get my art out there.**  
**In regards to the story, I'm sorry this took a little while, but school is tiring and I find this harder to write than my other story.**

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John hadn't spent so much time kissing in years. Over the next week, he and Sherlock spent fifteen minutes per day kissing. Spending so much time together per day wasn't exactly smart, but he just couldn't get enough of Sherlock's soft lips on his. When Sherlock had just been thoroughly snogged, he looked fucking obscene. His eyes were hazy with lust, lips wet and red, and his hair went in every direction at once. When Sherlock looked like that, John couldn't control himself. He would start biting Sherlock's neck and rutting against him, coming embarrassingly quickly. Well, it would have been embarrassing, if Sherlock didn't come before he did.

That was another thing they did every day: sex. Sherlock coming was a beautiful sight. His eyes would roll back and then close, his mouth would drop open, and he either whimpered quietly, or let out deep, drawn out groans. John didn't know which sound he found sexier. The sex they had was frenzied because it had to be. John enjoyed it, certainly, but he wondered what it would have been like if he slowly made Sherlock come undone, took his time, kissed Sherlock softly instead of hurriedly. What they had now was definitely better than nothing, but the fact that it was all they could do was a brutal reminder of their situation. What they were doing was dangerous enough. He had anxiety tickle the back of his consciousness, but he pushed it away.

Still, John felt like he was getting a lot closer to Sherlock. He knew that Sherlock sharing this part of him was not to be taken lightly, even though Sherlock never told him about his past experiences, or lack thereof. Sherlock trusted him, and he couldn't believe it, but John trusted him, too.

Currently, they were lying on their backs, semen splattered across their stomachs, chests heaving. Sherlock breathed in through his mouth deeply and propped himself up on his elbows, grinning down at John. As they spent more time together, Sherlock was growing softer.

"This gets better every day," Sherlock said.

John snorted. "Yeah? I'm glad. At least you're not getting bored."

"I never could," Sherlock sat up and stretched, his pale back arching. He stood up and bent over, reaching over a cloth he brought with him. (Constantly wiping their mess on their clothes was leading to a disgustingly crusty mess). Sherlock's plump bottom was right on display, so John smacked it.

Sherlock yelped and rubbed his butt cheek. "Ouch."

"Can't help myself."

"You've been squeezing it a lot lately," Sherlock wiped the semen off his body and tossed the cloth to John.

"That's not all I want to do to it," John commented casually, looking away and wiping himself off.

There was silence in the cell, so John looked up. Sherlock's lips were parted and his cheeks were red.

John chuckled. "What, like that idea?" He nearly giggled when he saw Sherlock's cock twitch.

"Perhaps."

John sat up, rolling his shoulders. To his relief, his shoulder wound was only an annoying twinge of pain now. "It would take awhile."

"What would?"

"Um," he cleared his throat. "You know, touching you there."

"Why?"

"If I were to rush, I'd hurt you." His brows furrowed. "Has no one ever touched you there?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No one's ever wanted to."

"Their loss," John stood and grabbed Sherlock's pale cheeks. "More for me."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but his blush was spreading to his chest. "When this began, I hadn't realized you would be so insatiable."

"Is that your way of calling me a horndog?"

"Your words, not mine."

John rubbed Sherlock's arse and smoothed his hands down his creamy thighs. licking his lips at Sherlock's shaky sigh.

"John, I have to go."

John let go. He felt more disappointed by Sherlock's departure every day. "All right."

Sherlock completely caught him off guard by kissing John on the nose. He then started to dress as if nothing happened. It's not that a little kiss like that made John uncomfortable or anything, but it was...sweet.

Sherlock stuffed the dirty cloth in his pocket. "I hope you know carrying this thing around disgusts me."

"Poor you. I haven't had clean clothes in nearly two months."

While true, John didn't mean for the comment to be serious, but Sherlock's mouth twisted into a grimace. "Sorry."

"It's okay, Sherlock." He picked up Sherlock's helmet and handed it to him. "Off you go before someone starts looking."

Sherlock put on the helmet and slid down the mask. "See you tomorrow, John."

"Yeah, goodnight."

* * *

That night, John had a nightmare, but this time, it didn't involve war flashbacks or memories of Mary. It involved Sherlock. It was brief, but enough to shake John to his core.

In the dream, John's cell door opened on its own. Dream-John walked out of the cell into darkness. He looked around, but everything was black...nothingness. There were no sounds, people, or objects. It was getting disconcerting, but then he heard a scream. It sounded like it came from a man. Within the blink of an eye, Molly was in front of him.

"Molly? What are you doing here?"

She shook her head, a deep frown on her face. "What were you thinking, John?"

"What are you talking about?"

She sighed deeply and shook her head again. "Such a shame." She vanished as quickly as he appeared.

Then, Sherlock appeared before him on his knees. "John!"

"Sherlock!" John got the feeling something was very wrong, so he tried to go to him, but he wasn't going anywhere. He looked down at his legs and saw that they were moving, but he wasn't getting any closer to Sherlock. He ran faster, but went nowhere. His legs felt like lead and he stopped, clutching his knees and catching his breath. John looked back at Sherlock and felt like his spine turned to ice.

Sherlock's face was burned severely, his eyes gone and, for some reason, flames were coming out of his empty eye sockets. _"John!" _he screamed.

John kept hearing the scream, no, no it was his own. John opened his eyes and was met with the ceiling of his cell. "Sherlock!" he looked around frantically, but of course, he was alone. John sat up and wrapped his arms around his torso, trembling violently. That was fucking _terrifying. _Why the hell did he dream of something so awful? In the nightmare, Molly was scolding him and Sherlock was burned. That could happen. Sherlock could get hurt if they were found out. He realized that Molly must have been his conscience, scolding him.

John was hyperventilating. He put his hands over his mouth and forced himself to breathe slowly, feeling tears run down his face. He jumped from the mattress and paced the cell. He wanted to run. He wanted to shout. He wanted to make sure Sherlock was okay. How could he be such an idiot? He had eased into the idea of Sherlock visiting him for extended periods of time and forgotten just how dangerous it was. John didn't care what happened to him, but the thought of Sherlock getting hurt made him nauseated.

How long did John have left in this cell? He lost track of the days. It couldn't be long. But, he had to get out. He had to see Sherlock. John slammed his hands against the metal door and pushed. He didn't know what he expected to happen, but he wasn't in the right state of mind. He was going to try everything.

"Come on," John growled and pushed against the door harder, his fingers sweating and shaking against the cool metal. He planted his feet firmly on the floor and turned his right foot in bending position. All he wanted was a motherfucking rock. He needed to see Sherlock. He started panting and pushed against the door with all his might. He could try to push it down. He could do something. He just needed to get out-!

John's eyes widened to the size of golf balls when the metal bent under his fingers. He drew his hands back abruptly. _What the fuck? _His heart hammered wildly and he could feel his pulse in his neck. There were indentations on the door where his fingers were. John put his fingers back and put all of his strength into his hands again. The metal moved under his touch once more. What the fuck was happening?

He clenched his fingers on his left hand and the metal bunched together. He stepped away from the door. Could he bend with his feet? He stomped down and a metal panel flew from the floor and hit the ceiling with a loud clang.

John winced. He wanted to get out of the cell quietly. He gained this ability literal minutes ago. He didn't think he could use this to fight off guards yet.

Then, he heard footsteps approaching the cell and the door began to open. So much for not fighting. He got into bending position and hoped for the best.

A guard came in and saw John's stance. He held up his hands. "John?"

"Sherlock?" John lowered his hands.

"John, what are you doing?" Sherlock whispered and shut the door behind him.

"Take off your helmet," he commanded.

"What?"

"Do it, please," he pleaded sharply.

Sherlock took off his helmet, looking completely confused.

His face was fine. His beautiful, pale skin did not have a single blemish. He was okay. It really was just a nightmare. He lunged forward and enveloped Sherlock in his arms, hugging him tightly. He shook with relief.

Sherlock tensed. "John? What's going on?"

John held back tears and swallowed a lump in his throat. "You're all right."

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" he put his arms around John, tentatively rubbing John's back.

John rubbed his face against Sherlock's shoulder and breathed in the scent of his skin. Still haunted by the nightmare, he knew what he had to do to keep Sherlock safe. "You can't see me anymore."

Sherlock recoiled. "What?!"

"Shh!" John pulled away.

Sherlock looked horrified and almost angry. "Why?"

"This isn't safe," he insisted.

"That didn't' bother you before," Sherlock accused, voice dark and intense.

"It didn't, but," he shivered, "I had a dream, okay? It was bad. You got hurt. It made me realize you could get hurt by this."

Sherlock was still troubled, but he didn't look angry anymore. "I'm willing to take the risk."

John grabbed Sherlock's shoulders and almost shook him. "No! You can't-you can't get hurt."

Sherlock kissed his lips chastely. "Please, John, I want to keep seeing you."

"We're going to get caught sooner or later." His grip eased on Sherlock, but he didn't let him go. "Wait, why are you here?"

"A report of a loud crash came from your cell and I was ordered to attend to it."

Oh yeah. He'd forgotten about his newfound ability. "I, er," he laughed uncomfortably, "I kind of did that," he pointed to the door.

Sherlock looked back and saw the contorted metal. His head cocked to the side. "How did you do that?"

John stepped out of Sherlock's embrace and walked to the wall. He let out a breath through his mouth and put his hands against the wall, moving his fingers, and bending it. He laughed at Sherlock's absolutely gobsmacked expression.

He blinked rapidly and his mouth soundlessly formed words. "J-John, how-what?"

"I don't know!" John laughed. "It's mad, isn't it? I did that with my foot," he pointed at the metal panel from the floor attached to the ceiling.

Sherlock looked up. "Metalbend. You just invented Metalbending."

He flushed at the awe in Sherlock's voice. "I'm sure _someone _else must have figured it out by now."

"If they have, they never made it known." A giant smile spread across his face. "John, this is amazing! This is perfect!"

"'Perfect'?"

Sherlock came over and grabbed John's face. "It's perfect for my plan." His eyes were the brightest John had ever seen.

"What plan?"

"To get us out of here, of course."

"What?"

"John, do you think I'm going to let you stay in this prison and rot?"

John gasped sharply. "You mean-?"

"Yes, John," he nodded enthusiastically. "We're getting out of here."

* * *

**Yes, I decided to make John learn how to Metalbend. I figured that someone as stubborn and determined as John could pull it off. His determination kind of reminds me of Toph's. Don't hate me.**


	10. The Plan

**I am SO SORRY it took me over two months to get this out to you. I finished up my other chapter-fic AU and wrote an angsty one-shot sort of fix-it fic in the meantime. And school sucks. And I had to draw my friend's Christmas gift. **

**Again: so sorry. I wish I had written this sooner, because once I got back into the swing of things, I had fun!**

* * *

"_Sherlock," _all the air rushed out of John's lungs and he cupped the side of Sherlock's neck, joy tingling in his stomach. "You have a plan?"

He nodded enthusiastically, grinning madly.

"How long have you been planning?"

"A couple weeks or so. I was struggling to come up with a rational way to get out of here, but _this, _John," he grabbed John's hand from his neck, "_these_ will be very helpful." In a fit of glee, Sherlock kissed the tops of both of John's hands.

John bit his lip, fighting a smile. That was the most affectionate thing Sherlock had done thus far, and the spontaneity of it was kind of sweet. "How so?"

"Your ability makes things much easier. Give me a moment to modify my plan."

"Okay," John nodded, feeling giddy for the first time in months. He watched in amusement as Sherlock's eyes darted back and forth rapidly, seemingly reading a blueprint in his head.

Sherlock blinked and snapped his eyes back to John. "I'm done."

John snorted. "All right, then. Tell me."

"There will be a new shipment of prisoners tomorrow. I imagine you don't remember being brought here?"

"No," John said honestly. "I was unconscious."

"I thought so. Well, the prisoners are brought here on a Fire Nation airship, which lands on a platform on the outer ring of the mountains surrounding this island. Then, a gondola takes people to the mainland."

John raised his eyebrows. "I can't believe I was out for all of this."

"You'd sustained a severe, painful injury. Losing consciousness is not an uncommon occurrence."

"Right. So, there's a gondola and an airship. Are we getting on the airship?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "But, it will not be an easy task. The Fire Nation soldiers who will bring the new prisoners will certainly notice that there will be more men leaving than how many they initially brought with them."

"We can't just sneak on there and drive the airship ourselves?"

"Do you know how to drive an airship?"

"Good point. Are we going to, what, force the pilot to direct us home?"

"Precisely. He'll do it if we threaten his life."

John felt like he should have had objections to threatening a man's life, but he didn't. It's not like they would actually kill the man if he refused, anyway. At least, Sherlock wouldn't kill him.

"How am I supposed to get on?" John gestured to his filthy rags. "Look at me."

"You underestimate me," Sherlock said simply, not annoyed. "If I provide you with a spare uniform, you'll fit right in. Temporarily, at least."

"Where will you get an extra uniform?"

"I'll steal one while everyone is bathing."

John laughed. "All right, then. Glad to know you have no qualms with stealing."

"It's for a good cause," Sherlock shrugged. "Do _you _have qualms with stealing from the Fire Nation?"

"Absolutely not," John said happily. "When will you steal it?"

"Tomorrow morning, that way I have enough time to bring it to you and we can get ready."

"Won't people ask why you're walking around with an uniform in your hands?"

"There's a simple way to avoid unnecessary questions: if you say it's for the Warden, no one will bat an eye. We won't be staying long enough to get discovered."

John nodded, taking it all in. It could work, but he was afraid to get his hopes up. "You said they'll probably notice we're out of place. What do we do then?"

"That's where your marvelous skill comes in," Sherlock nodded toward John's hands. "No one in the _world _knows this wonder exists. Other than us, of course."

John looked down at his hands, a small smile on his face. Hearing direct praise from Sherlock suddenly made him bashful. No one ever thought anything about him was special before. "What, so I'll have to be the big, strong man and protect you?" John joked.

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock frowned, "I'll be Firebending, too. I won't leave you to fight by yourself."

"I was just teasing," John reassured. In a way, John was looking forward to a battle tomorrow. He hadn't beat the shit out of anyone in months, and he was itching for a good fight. That was probably unhealthy, but he never claimed to be a normal man. He missed feeling adrenaline, the blood pumping through his veins. Being in isolation had only increased his anger. Thank god for Sherlock, or he really would have gone insane. He then thought about Sherlock Firebending, and how it was probably a sight to behold.

"I don't think I've seen you Firebend the entire time here," John pointed out.

"I don't bother unless it's an emergency," Sherlock said. "It uses energy, and most of the time, the prisoners aren't worth it."

"Are you any good?"

"I'm excellent," Sherlock said quickly, eyes narrowing.

John laughed. "You sound a bit defensive, there."

Sherlock glared at him, "You doubt me?"

"No, just wondering if you've got any right to be walking around with your head up high. Are you a good Bender, or just pompous? Maybe both?" He knew he was getting Sherlock riled up, but it was all in good fun, and seeing Sherlock looked like an offended peacock was pretty funny. Sherlock was still glaring, chin up in the air, nostrils flaring slightly. His lip quivered almost imperceptibly.

Sherlock said nothing and lifted his hand, and a large flame emerged. But this flame wasn't orange, yellow, or red. It was bright blue, the center almost white. The small cell was filled with glowing blue light, and John was entranced by its beauty. It was a pale blue, the color resembling the sky in the early afternoon.

"I didn't know it could be blue," he said quietly.

"Blue is more powerful," Sherlock said, voice rumbling. His gaze locked onto John, and his eyes were almost identical to the color of the fire. The heat of the flame was making his face flush, his cheeks turning pink. He closed his long fingers over his palm, and the flame vanished instantly. "Have you ever seen someone bend lightning?" he asked.

John shook his head. "Never. You can do that?"

"Yes. It's not a common ability. I believe the Princess can do it. She's a prodigy of some sort," he said with a smidgen of disgust.

John grimaced. "I heard she's an absolute menace."

"I've heard the same. The Warden fears her."

"Can I see the lightning?"

Sherlock almost flinched. "No. I'm unable to do it in here, and I wouldn't want to. It's dangerous and I'd hurt you."

John thought about what it would feel like to be burned by blue fire. Getting injured by regular fire fucked up his shoulder enough. It still hurt a little and there was certainly a scar forming. Blue fire would at least double the pain of a regular burst of flames. "God, I can't imagine what you'd be like at the front lines. You could probably take out a whole unit."

"Maybe," Sherlock said, almost solemnly. He looked uncomfortable.

John shuddered at the thought of facing Sherlock on the battlefield. He, of course, had no desire to hurt Sherlock now, but just thinking about what it would have been like made John uneasy. He was confident in his Earthbending abilities, but none of the soldiers he ever faced produced blue fire, or bent lightning. If he faced Sherlock now, he would have to use Metalbending to win. What the hell was he thinking? He couldn't hurt Sherlock. He hated that he wanted to harm Sherlock in the beginning. But their relationship changed so much since then.

It occurred to him that he was being ridiculous. Sherlock came up with a plan for them to be free! He should be happy. He stepped closer to Sherlock and kissed his jaw. "Do you think this will work? The plan?"

"I believe so, yes," Sherlock said. He smiled softly, "Don't worry, John. I'll get you out of here."

"Where will we go after the airship lands?"

Sherlock's smile faltered. "It will land in the Fire Nation. I forgot to mention: we'll be receiving a bit of help."

"Yeah?"

Sherlock looked annoyed, "Remember I told you about my brother?"

"The one in the government?"

"Yes."

"What about him?"

"He's going to pull some strings," he said regretfully. "Hopefully, we won't be met with much trouble when we land. We'll have to hide out in his house until the end of the war, I'm afraid."

"Wait, so your brother is going to break the law for us? How did you convince him to do that?"

"We've been writing letters to each other for weeks." He sighed, "It may have take some begging, but he agreed. We'll have to work out the details once we actually land. We've only been able to communicate so much over the past few weeks."

"How did you send letters? We're in the middle of the sea."

Sherlock's nose scrunched up, "Stop questioning the logistics of things. My brother has ways."

"Okay, okay," John chuckled. "Whatever gets us out, I won't ask questions."

"Good," Sherlock pursed his lips, and John had to kiss them.

"You're really getting us out," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. He believed Sherlock, he just couldn't believe it was happening. Nothing good ever happened to him. He placed his hand on the side of Sherlock's face gently and stroked a sharp cheekbone with his thumb. "You're really doing this for me."

"I am," he said softly.

John smiled warmly, "I don't know how I could repay you."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, John. First of all, we haven't escaped yet. Secondly, I expect nothing in return. I only want you to be happy." Sherlock looked down. "Preferably, with me," he mumbled.

"Of course with you," John playfully shoved his shoulder. Something dawned on him, and his eyes widened. "Wait, we've only been, you know," he coughed delicately, "for a week or so. You've been planning this since before that?"

Sherlock's cheeks colored. "Well, yes, I…" He swallowed. "Ever since I thought of you as a friend, I wanted to get you out. I had hoped this-progression-would occur, but even if it hadn't, I would have escaped with you anyway." He was speaking quickly now, playing with his hands, "Even if we were just friends, I would have been happy to commit treason for you. I just want you out of here. I'm not selfless, don't misunderstand me, because I thought that maybe, if we hadn't been, you know, by then, our relationship could progress while we were in hiding. I've wanted this, John, and I can't act like I'm-"

John shut Sherlock up by hugging him. He just couldn't help it. Sherlock was so damned...cute. "Sherlock, shush," John said into his neck. "It's all right. Don't feel like you need to apologize for wanting this with me."

"I didn't apologize," Sherlock mumbled, wrapping his arms around John.

"It sounded like you were about to."

John's nightmare of Sherlock flashed into his mind, and he shivered and held Sherlock tighter. What if they lost tomorrow and weren't able to see each other again? What if Sherlock got killed? John squeezed Sherlock, drawing a little _oomph! _out of him.

"Sorry," John laughed weakly.

"It's okay," Sherlock cupped John's cheek and tilted his face up, "is something bothering you?"

"We could lose tomorrow," John said.

"Technically, yes. I won't deny that. But we won't." Sherlock kissed his forehead. "And if we go down, we go down together."

"Yeah," John said, emotion welling up inside of him. He kissed Sherlock, savoring the sensation of those soft, plump lips under his. They kissed softly, but deeply, clinging on to each other with the weight of tomorrow upon them. John sucked Sherlock's bottom lip gently, hand sliding down to grip his hip. Sherlock took John's upper lip in his mouth, groaning so quietly John nearly missed it. They parted with a wet little smack and John kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheek, cheekbone, and latched onto the spot behind Sherlock's ear, sucking.

It was really hitting John now: Sherlock was getting him out. He was about to commit treason for _him. _John could not express his gratitude into words. If it actually worked (and he hoped it god it would), John might actually cry with happiness. Maybe not cry, but he'd get pretty close to it. He could hardly believe this was the man he couldn't stand when he first arrived at the Boiling Rock. So much changed. He felt like a new man.

Sherlock gasped and let his head fall back, "My neck, John, please."

John moved his lips to Sherlock's Adam's apple, sucking it, trailing his lips down to his collarbone, and biting. He soothed the bite with gentle kisses, cock twitching at Sherlock's increasingly needy moans. He loved how sensitive Sherlock was. He felt Sherlock's growing erection against his hip, and he pushed their groins together.

Sherlock's knees began to shake, and John wrapped his arms around his waist to support him. Their hips thrust together and John had to stop himself before they took things further.

"Do you have time? Can you stay for a few more minutes?" John asked.

Sherlock's eyes were shut from pleasure, but then his eyebrows furrowed, and he opened them. "How long have I been here?"

"I don't know, ten minutes? I lost track."

Sherlock sighed and took a small step away from John, putting space between them. "I'm afraid I should go," he said, sounding a little breathless. His face was red, and John knew his chest must have been covered with a beautiful blush, too. "I only came here to find out what that noise was. They'll all be suspicious if I don't go back soon."

John almost forgot what Sherlock was talking about, but then he looked up at the metal panel he brought up to the ceiling by stomping on the floor. "Okay." He looked at Sherlock and grinned, "After tomorrow, we won't have to worry about running out of time, yeah?"

Sherlock grinned back. "Exactly." He kissed John briefly on the lips. "Tomorrow morning I shall bring the uniform for your disguise, and then we'll go from there. You should practice your Metalbending tonight in the most quiet way possible."

John rolled his eyes, "I'll try. Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, John. Tomorrow, we'll be free."

* * *

**I think it's only natural that Sherlock would have the same Firebending abilities as someone like Azula. I love her blue fire.**

**Also, for those of you who watched Avatar (there are some people who haven't but are reading this anyway, which I greatly appreciate!) I drew Katara from "The Puppetmaster" with mechanical pencil.**

**The picture can be found here (remove spaces because this site is a bitch): a - lollipop - tries - to- draw . tumblr post / 132344812097 / katara - in - fire - nation - garb - from - the**

**Just shamefully self-promoting.**


	11. The Escape

**School has prevented me from updating this sooner. What else is new?**

* * *

It was difficult for John to sleep after that with the thrill of creating a new skill and the anticipation of Sherlock's plan making his heart flutter with nervousness, but there was no dread in his anxiety. He felt giddy like a child. He was looking forward to seeing some action after so long, and, more importantly, he was looking forward to freedom. Freedom _with Sherlock. _He would definitely have to thank Sherlock once they were free. He doubted Sherlock had ever received a blow job, so that would be a nice gift-not that sexual acts could compare to what Sherlock was trying to do for him, but John didn't know how else to repay him. It would probably be better to think about this once they were actually off this fucking island.

John's exhaustion from waking in the middle of the night due to a nightmare and bending metal caught up to him, so he managed to fall asleep for about three hours before Sherlock came into his cell.

John sat up, yawning and grinning. "Hello."

"Hello," Sherlock smiled, spare Fire Nation uniform and helmet in hand.

"You remembered," John said, his brain fuzzy and drowsy.

"Of course I remembered," Sherlock rolled his eyes, "it's my plan."

"Of course," John nodded, humoring him. "Did anyone question you?"

"No. I think everyone is used to my...eccentricities by now."

"'Eccentricities', that's one way to put it."

Sherlock glared and John laughed lightly. "Just teasing," he assured. "Should I strip?"

Sherlock's cheeks colored lightly. "Yes."

John didn't mean for that to be suggestive, but he wasn't going to correct Sherlock. He loved when Sherlock's cheeks turned warm and rosy. He was so easily flustered. It was adorable, but John kept his opinion to himself most of the time. Sometimes, he feared he would scare Sherlock off. John took off his dirty clothes and sighed in relief. He hated those fucking rags.

"Okay, give it to me," John held out his hands for the uniform.

Sherlock was now red and failing miserably to avoid looking at John's naked form, eyes sneaking peeks of his penis.

John smirked. "Like what you see?"

"I wouldn't have sex with you if I didn't," he tried to reply haughtily, but it came out breathlessly.

John chuckled and quickly put on the uniform, and then put the helmet on his head. It was weird to be in the clothes of the enemy side, something he never thought would happen. He slid the mask down over his eyes. The mask didn't obscure his vision, but it did make him a little hot.

"No wonder your hair is always damp," John said, "it's an oven in here."

Sherlock was trying not to smile. "You look fit, although I'm not fond of the helmet."

"I don't like it on you, either. Hides your face too much."

"Precisely." Sherlock walked to the door and looked out the window. "I think the coast is clear. Only one guard went in; it would be suspicious if anyone saw two come out."

"It's time now?"

"We have around twenty minutes to get to where the gondola lets off."

"Then let's go now," John said, heart drumming.

"There's a revision to the plan I thought of this morning: we should go on the gondola and leave before the other men get back on board."

"How the hell will we do that?"

"There's a lever made of metal that starts the gondola. John, think you can destroy it so they can't stop us?"

John smiled deviously, "I think that could be arranged."

"Excellent," Sherlock grinned. "You may have to jump on the gondola to catch it, though, because it will begin leaving before you'd be done with the lever."

"Shouldn't be a problem. I have had army training, you know. So, we're not going for any subtlety, then?"

"They'll discover us eventually. We might as well make it easier and not have to deal with them on the way to the airship."

This made John more excited. He couldn't wait to see those fuckers' faces when he bent metal.

Sherlock grabbed the handle of the door, frowned, and let go. "Just one more thing, John."

"What's wrong?"

Sherlock walked over and swiftly took John's face in his hands, kissing him hard on the lips. It lasted under fifteen seconds and Sherlock pulled away with a smack. "That was in case of…" He bit his lip. "You know."

John cupped Sherlock's jaw. "We'll be okay, Sherlock."

Sherlock kissed him again chastely. "I hope so, because, John, I would never forgive myself if my idea got you hurt."

John shook his head. "Don't think that way, Sherlock. We escape if it's the last thing we do." John looked down, figuring now would be a good time to speak from the heart. He stroked Sherlock's jaw with his thumb, "I'd rather die with you than rot away in this cell, anyway." He looked up and saw Sherlock's eyes soft and surprised. John cleared his throat. "But no more of that kind of talk. We'll kick their arses." He wasn't just trying to reassure Sherlock. He really thought they would make it out of this. John was too damn tired of being in this fucking place to allow himself to fail.

Sherlock smiled softly, thumb stroking John's cheek. "You're confident."

"You're unsure of your own plan?"

"No," Sherlock said defensively.

John was beginning to pick something up: if Sherlock was upset, the best way to reverse it was to kiss him, or tease him. "Then come on. How much time do we have to get there?"

"Eighteen minutes and fifty-four seconds."

Sherlock stepped away and opened the door, gesturing for John to come quickly. John went to Sherlock's side, and for the first time in several weeks, he left the cell. The hallway was brighter than the cell was, and it took his eyes about twenty seconds to adjust. It was a little cooler in the hall, the air not as soupy and oppressive. John inhaled deeply.

He walked right behind Sherlock, looking at the cells the passed, and felt sorry for everyone inside. They walked by a cell and John could have sworn it was Molly inside.

"Sherlock!" he whispered. "Molly!"

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and looked inside the cell. His lips pursed. "It is a shame, but-"

"We have to save her."

Sherlock looked at him like he was mad. "John, we can't!"

"We have to," John glared at him. "She's our friend."

"And where do you expect me to find another uniform so quickly?"

A guard came down the hallway. "Hey, is something wrong?"

"Uh, yeah," John said, "could you come here?"

The guard walked over to them. "Yeah?"

John grabbed the guard by the throat and shoved him against the wall, hand tightening in a death grip, and the other hand coming over the man's mouth. "Sherlock, open Molly's door."

Sherlock blinked in shock, but snapped out of it and opened the door.

John threw the guard in and went inside. "Hello, Molly."

Molly stood up, large eyes frightened. "What's-"

John lifted the mask. "It's John."

Sherlock shut the door and bent a large blue flame. "If you move, I'm afraid we'll have to injure you," he said to the guard coolly.

The guard was gasping for air, still disoriented from John's chokehold.

"Molly," Sherlock smiled, "take off that man's clothes and put them on. We're escaping."

"What?!"

"What?!" the guard choked.

"Shut the fuck up," John said cheerfully to him.

"Hurry up, Molly, we have fifteen minutes to get outside. Don't worry about undressing in front of us, because neither of us is interested in women."

"Speak for yourself," John snorted.

"John's interested in me, so it's fine."

"O-oh," Molly stammered. "Okay, then." Confused, but obedient, Molly quickly undressed the shocked, petrified man and put on his uniform and helmet. John bent metal from the ground to pin the man's hands to the ground. That would do.

"John!" Molly squeaked.

"No time to explain," Sherlock said, opening the door. "Just stay close to us."

They went outside to the location where the new prisoners were to arrive. The sunshine hurt John's eyes, which had become accustomed to the darkness of his cell. He would have to lift up the mask to rub his eyes, and that would give him away, so he blinked rapidly. His vision did adjust after a moment and he followed Sherlock to join the line of guards, who were ready to lead the prisoners to their new cells. They stood at the very end of the line, Sherlock to John's left, and an overwhelmed Molly to his right. In the distance, John could see the airship Sherlock mentioned and the gondola slowly coming towards them.

Then, John's eyes landed on the warden. He remembered how that son of a bitch talked to him when he was in the Cooler. If a fight did break out, John would love to shove a metal up his arse for fun.

John's fingers twitched, pulse beating hard in his neck.

"Remain calm," Sherlock whispered to him.

"I know," John whispered back. Of course Sherlock knew what he was thinking.

It took about a minute and thirty seconds for the gondola to arrive to them, but it felt like an hour. The gondola's door opened and two guards stepped out.

"Come on!" one shouted.

Seven prisoners, six men and one young woman, were pushed out roughly, all handcuffed. Three guards stepped out after them, looking smug.

One of them went to the warden. "Here they are, sir."

From where he was standing, John couldn't see the warden's expression, which was probably for the best, or else he would be inclined to hurt him.

The warden began to speak to the prisoners. John couldn't hear most of it, but heard the warden say, "No one has ever, ever escaped from here. I'd sooner jump in the boiling lake myself than let that record fall. Don't forget it."

John suppressed a smirk. _Wait and see, bastard. _

The warden turned on his heel and walked away from the new prisoners, and John was right: he was smug.

More importantly, this was when he and Sherlock had to make their move. As the prisoners were being handed over (shoved) to the guards of the Boiling, he, Molly and Sherlock shuffled over to the guards from the gondola.

The guards, thankfully, were distracted by the new prisoners, who were struggling and fighting with them.

One large man growled, "Don't fucking touch me like that," after being shoved, which prompted a guard to kick him to the ground.

At that same moment, a young woman of the group shouted, "Get _off _me!" and kicked a guard in the shin. This caused enough commotion for two guards to grab her arms and for another to bend a flame in front of her face.

"You want me to use this?" the guard sneered.

As much as John wanted to watch, Sherlock grabbed him by the wrist, signaling it was time. John grabbed Molly and they ran to the gondola.

"Hey, where the fuck are you going?!" a guard shouted.

"You're not one of our men!" another yelled.

Thank god Sherlock had revised their plan. It was evident first one would have failed miserably.

Sherlock kicked and a burst of blue fire flew to the guards.

They shouted, stumbling away. At this point, the prisoners were huddled together a few feet away.

"Get on there!" Sherlock shouted to Molly.

Molly, unable to help with no water in sight, boarded the gondola.

"Don't you fucking dare!" a guard moved into bending position. Before he could do anything, John slammed his foot on the ground and a metal platform rose up, sending the man into the air, and he came crashing down to the ground with a pained shout.

"What the hell was that?!" a man looked at John with horror. "What did you just do?!"

"It doesn't matter," the injured man on the floor snarled, shooting out his arm and making fire come like a stream towards John. Sherlock stepped in front of John, deflecting the fire with a much more powerful burst of blue from his palm.

"Don't even attempt to harm him," Sherlock growled dangerously. "I am the superior bender. I will beat you."

"Who the fuck are you?" a guard asked, still looking fearful from John's bending. "Who the fuck has blue fire and bends metal? It's unnatural."

"For god's sake, who cares?" a guard yelled and aimed a stream of fire at John. Sherlock jumped in front of him and used both of his hands this time to create a huge flame, not only consuming the guard's but creating a wall of fire between the guards and him and John.

John wished he could have had more time to appreciate the beauty of it. John ran over to the lever, ready to go. "Sherlock, get on there," he aid. "I can take it from here."

Sherlock looked back. "But, John-"

"Go!" John shouted.

Sherlock lowered his hands, the blue fire disappearing, and ran onto the gondola.

John pulled the lever, his heart beating hard and palms sweating, and the gondola started.

He quickly bent the metal, twisting it like a pretzel, making the lever useless.

Breathing heavily and sweating under the mask, he looked up and saw the gondola leaving, Sherlock staring out the window after him. John ran to the edge of the platform and made a large leap, grabbing the edge of the window on the gondola. But the machine wasn't fast, and a combined burst of fire from all of the guards had enough power to reach John's leg.

John's eyes widened and he shouted in pain, this one worse than his shoulder injury. His fingers clung to the metal, leaving and indent, and Sherlock quickly grabbed his arms and pulled him inside, crushing John in a hug.

"Ah!" John hissed. "Sherlock-!"

The blood drained from Sherlock's face. "John, you're hurt!"

_No shit, _he wanted to say, but he could only groan through clenched teeth as his leg, from his foot to his knee, burned and throbbed agonizingly. His fingers bunched in the fabric of Sherlock's uniform, hands shaking.

Through his blurry vision, he saw Molly suddenly run in place.

"Molly, now's not that time for...whatever you're doing!" Sherlock scolded.

"Trust me!" she said, running harder, panting. She took off her helmet and wiped a stream of sweat from her forehead, the sweat hovering in the air. "I'm making my own water."

"Molly, that's brilliant!" John heard Sherlock say, but the pain was making him hang at the edge of consciousness. But then he felt a little bit of water hovering over his brand new burn.

He moaned in relief, but it wasn't enough.

But Molly bent the sweat from Sherlock and John's body, which wasn't a ton of liquid, but it was better than nothing, and she got to work, healing him.

The pain ebbed away a bit, and John was able to open his eyes. "Thank you."

Molly smiled at him.

"We need to get on the airship," Sherlock's voice rumbled above him. "Molly, help John on. I will take care of the pilot."

The gondola stopped and Sherlock helped John to his feet. John had to completely lean on Molly for support, burned leg off the ground. They had to hobble onto the airship and John hated being like this, but was in too much pain to be proud.

He vaguely heard the pilot ask questions in shock, but Sherlock was quick to threaten his life with a nice, bright blue flame.

"Drive," Sherlock smiled menacingly, all his teeth showing.

The pilot gasped and started the airship.

"See, was that hard?" Sherlock asked, leaning against the wall. "I can do this all day, you know."

"What will happen if you kill me? Then this airship goes down," the pilot said shakily.

"Ah, but we have a Waterbender with us. It won't be too difficult for her to get us to land if we end up in the ocean, now will it?"

John snorted through his pain. He didn't expect to be so amused by Sherlock threatening a man's life, but there he was. Molly helped lower John to the floor.

"Do you have water on here?" she asked the pilot.

"Not fucking telling you."

Sherlock's flame grew. "Watch it."

"In the canteen to your right."

"Thanks," Molly beamed. She took water from it and was fully able to work on John's leg now.

The water felt like a blessing and John moaned in bliss, closing his eyes

"I have to thank you two," he heard Molly say. "If it weren't for you, who knows how long I would have stayed there."

"No problem," John mumbled, yawning. Apparently, executing an escape plan and getting a critical injury really knocked him out. The cool sensation of Molly healing him only made John drowsier. Everything happened so quickly. He knew they would succeed, but he couldn't believe he was away from the Boiling Rock. They were riding to freedom. He was going to start a life with Sherlock. The thought made his chest warm, and he yawned again.

"You'll have to tell me about that thing you did with the metal," Molly said.

"He'll tell you later," he heard Sherlock say. "Rest, John. When you wake up, we'll be on land."

* * *

**Almost done, guys!**


	12. Mycroft

**The airship lands!**

* * *

John woke up as the airship was landing.

Sherlock smiled at him. "Just in time, John."

"You can all go to hell," the pilot snarled.

Sherlock created a flame and brought it to the pilot's face. "What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Good man."

John frowned and grunted, feeling the pain of his new burn now that he was awake, although is felt significantly better than before. That must have been due to Molly. Looking down at his leg, he noticed that his injured foot was now bare, bright red, and the scorched boot had been thrown across the airship. He really must have been out of it before if he didn't even notice Molly taking off his boot to heal him.

Speaking of Molly, she was standing up, looking out the window with a small smile on her face. She had been imprisoned in the Boiling Rock longer than John, so she must have been more excited to see freedom than he was. He was glad they brought her along. He would have felt guilty for the rest of his life if they had left her there to rot, even if the war did end soon and the Avatar won.

She turned to him, smile softening. "Hi, John. How's the pain?"

"Painful," John forced a light laugh. "It is better, though."

Molly walked over to him and drew water from the canteen from earlier, bending it so her hands were immersed in the water, and started to heal him again.

"Thank you," John sighed, his muscles releasing tension from relief.

"I'll have to stop in a minute," she said. "I can't do this while we walk out of here."

"That's fine," John said. "I think I can walk now."

"No," Sherlock cut in. "Do not even attempt. I'll help you."

John shook his head. "I can take care of myself, Sherlock."

"I didn't say otherwise, but you received a serious burn less than an hour ago. John, while I normally find your stubborn nature endearing, now is not the time."

"Oi," John glared at him. While he appreciated and somewhat craved Sherlock's care and attention, he would not be coddled, at least not around other people. "I'm a soldier. I don't need you carrying me out like some fucking damsel in distress."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to the pilot. "Will you hurry up?"

"We're landing, you fucking twat," the pilot spat.

John thought about hobbling over and punching him, but it wasn't really worth it. If he weren't injured, though, that would be a different story. Looking down again at his burned foot and lower half of his leg, he decided that he should start getting up now. John braved his hand on the wall and lifted his body with the support of one leg. When he stumbled and nearly fell, his fingers clawed into the metal, creating a dent in the wall of the airship that allowed him to hold himself up.

"You have to tell me what that is," Molly said with wide eyes.

John snorted, keeping his injured leg in the air. "I...don't really know, actually. It just happened last night."

"Last night?" she asked. "This just appeared?"

John thought about it, remembering the frustration he felt, bubbling inside of him, his attempts to get out of the cell. "It built up over a little while. I just-I don't know," he laughed. "It's really fucking weird."

"It's incredible," Sherlock said softly.

John smiled at him and the pilot scrunched up his face in disgust.

"We've landed, you fucks."

"Marvelous!" Sherlock clapped his hands together and looked outside. "Ah, there's my brother," he said in an odd mix of relief and annoyance. "Let's go. You," he addressed the pilot, "come with us."

The pilot crossed his arms and glowered. "Why should I?"

Sherlock gave a long, suffering sigh and created two large blue flames from both of his hands. "We've been through this multiple times over the past hour. Honestly, keep up."

John giggled, loving Sherlock like this, powerful, but nonchalant. The door to the airship opened, and John conceded that, yes, he did need help. Sherlock gave him a look, John stared back, and Sherlock walked over to him and hoisted John's arm over his neck, supporting his weight.

Sherlock didn't say anything and John was thankful for it.

They exited the airship. Once outside, John realized they were in the heart of the Fire Nation, standing in a military area filled with airships.

A man was standing there, tall and regarding all of them with a cold, but interested stare. His hair was brown with a hint of auburn with a large nose and wide head. There were two soldiers standing behind him, and one of them had a decent-sized bag in his hand. This was Sherlock's brother? John concluded he definitely got the more attractive Holmes brother. Maybe that was mean, but he got mean when he was in pain.

"Sherlock," the man nodded.

"Mycroft," Sherlock said.

_Mycroft_? That was an odd name. Then again, so was _Sherlock. _

Mycroft looked at Molly. "You brought someone else, I see."

"She's my friend," Sherlock said firmly.

Molly smiled, her ears turning pink.

Mycroft eyed John. "You must be John." His gaze flickered down to John's leg, then back up to his face. "I can make arrangements for the best Waterbenders to-"

"Molly is a Waterbender," Sherlock cut in. "She will heal John."

Mycroft looked back at her. "A Waterbender...hm, yes. I see it now. You make very interesting friends, Sherlock."

"Hey!" the pilot said. "This is all oh-so fascinating, but what the fuck am I doing here?"

"Yes, yes, we haven't forgotten about you," Mycroft said, clearly resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "You lack the patriotism shared by your peers and only became a pilot to fulfill your father's dream." He smiled coldly. "Am I correct?"

John could definitely see why he and Sherlock were brothers now.

"Yeah," the pilot said weakly.

"Then you should have no problem accepting a large amount of gold, going back to your daily routine, and keeping your mouth shut?"

The pilot's eyes widened and he beamed. "Yes, sir!"

John almost laughed at him.

"Predictable," Sherlock said under his breath.

Mycroft's fake smile widened. "Wonderful." He nodded to the soldier with the bag.

The soldier threw the bag to the pilot-douche. Pilot-douche looked inside, "There's gold!"

"I just said there would be," Mycroft did roll his eyes this time. "Do us all a favor and report back to your superiors. You will say the mission was a success. These men will escort you out"

Pilot-fuck nodded enthusiastically and followed the soldiers out of the area.

John wondered what the hell kind of position Mycroft had where he could get soldiers to help him commit treason. He didn't really want to know, honestly.

John's leg was getting tired from leaning on it, but he couldn't shift his weight. His arm tightened around Sherlock's neck and shoulders and Sherlock looked at him in concern.

"Mycroft."

Mycroft gave him a look of understanding. "It was smart of you to dress them in Fire Nation uniforms. Well, done Sherlock."

"Don't patronize me," he grumbled.

"I'm not. We'll be able to make it through town without any suspicions." He looked at John. "If anything, a wounded soldier will only be met with respect."

John didn't like this man very much.

"My house is not far from here. We should get there in fifteen minutes."

"You live near the airship yard?" John asked, speaking to him for the first time.

"He lives in the Fire Nation capital," Sherlock said in disgust. "Pompous arse," he whispered to John, making him laugh.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at them. "If you would please refrain from acting like children."

John was in pain and irritated and could not take this man's attitude anymore. "If you could stop bickering with your brother and get us to somewhere I could sit down, I'd appreciate that," he put on his best shit-eating grin.

Mycroft's eyes widened slightly and Sherlock chuckled deeply. Molly looked really uncomfortable.

"Very well," Mycroft sneered.

* * *

Mycroft's house really wasn't far from the military base, but it did take them a full fifteen minutes to get there because of John. The journey was painful and really testing John's patience. Mycroft was right: anyone who laid eyes on him looked respectful, some even saluted, but the worst was the looks of pity he got. John always hated pity, but he wasn't even on their fucking side. But then again, that did give the situation a humorous edge. If they knew who he really was and where he was from, they would be outraged.

They entered Mycroft's large house and Sherlock immediately helped John over to a chair. John sat and couldn't hold back a harsh breath escaping his throat, heart beating hard from exertion. John took off the helmet Sherlock had given him and threw it aside.

"Molly," Sherlock said, "take care of John, will you? I have to discuss something with my brother."

He didn't wait for Molly to answer and went into another room with Mycroft.

Molly and John shared a long look, and then started laughing.

"I don't even know why I'm laughing!" Molly giggled.

"It's because those two are fucking ridiculous," John wiped his eyes. "I can't believe those two. One is a bigger brat than the other."

"I have to say, the last twenty minutes were really weird."

"They were," John agreed. "How...What the fuck does that man do?"

"You're asking me?" Molly asked, still smiling. This was the happiest John had ever seen her. Then, she gasped. "Oh, I need to find water! Sorry-"

"It's all right," John waved his hand. "Take your time."

Molly looked around and located a vase a water. She got to work on John's leg.

"You really don't have to keep doing this," John told her.

"I want to," she looked up at him. "You saved me, John. You and Sherlock." She smiled sadly. "I thought I would never get out of there. I almost thought you forgot about me."

"No," John assured, "no. I was just stuck in that bloody cell."

"Oh, right. I'm sorry, I thought you had been freed and-"

"Molly," John held up a hand. "It's fine. Sherlock made up a plan to get us out, and I couldn't leave you behind."

Molly looked down, her smile bashful. She focused on his burn. "So," she started casually, "you and Sherlock…"

"Yeah?"

"You're together?"

John grinned. "We are."

"How did that happen? If you don't mind me asking."

John huffed and thought about their first kiss. "He had been assigned to bring me my meals and we just started talking. He was interested in me, he said. He wanted to know more about me and he didn't know why."

Molly laughed through her nose. "That sounds like him."

"Yeah, he seemed...emotionally oblivious. But, I was, too, a bit. Because he's from the Fire Nation, I resisted my feelings for him. He clearly won me over in the end. We talked every day and," he cleared his throat, "well, everything just came together." He thought of kissing Sherlock deeply in the dimmed light of the cell, the warm air, the danger to the situation. He had to stop thinking about it mere seconds later. The last thing he wanted was to get an erection while Molly was inches away from his crotch as she healed him.

Sherlock and Mycroft came back in the room.

"When you're finished, Molly," Sherlock said, "Mycroft will show you to your room."

"I have a room?" she asked, bewildered.

"Yes, his large, arrogant house has multiple bedrooms."

Mycroft sighed. "Four, to be exact. One for each of us."

Sherlock's head whipped around and he looked affronted. "Don't be ridiculous. John and I will share a room."

Mycroft grimaced. "Just keep it down, then," he said and walked out of the room before the blush could fully reach Sherlock's cheeks.

John should have been annoyed, but Sherlock's expression just made him smirk. "I'm okay for now, Molly. You can go see where your room is."

"You sure?"

"Positive," John stood, holding on to the chair for support.

Sherlock came to his side. "Let's go to ours, then."

They walked through Mycroft's home, Sherlock supporting John, and went to a room with a double bed and large windows. Sherlock helped John to the bed and then shut the door, grinning madly.

He promptly took off his helmet, walked over to John, bent down, and kissed him firmly on the lips.

John smiled into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck. It felt like ages ago since their last kiss, when they were in that fucking cell, minutes before their escape. Kissing Sherlock brought him comfort, the feeling of peace.

"John," Sherlock whispered in between kisses, "John I thought I was going to lose you."

"Sherlock," John pulled away enough to speak, but their lips still touched. "Sherlock, I'm fine."

Sherlock's breathing was suspiciously shaky and he kissed John again, now with wobbling lips.

"Oh, Sherlock," John took Sherlock's face into his hands. Sherlock's eyes were shining with unshed tears. John's heart ached for him. This man, _his _man, was so sensitive, and he was a fool for not seeing it before. "Lie down with me."

Sherlock nodded jerkily.

John shuffled backwards until he was leaning against the large, fluffy pillows. "God, it feels good to actually have pillows."

Sherlock crawled on the bed and rested his head on John's good shoulder, burying his face in his neck and running his hand over John's chest, unable to stop touching him. "John."

John kissed the top of Sherlock's head, chest heavy, touched by how much Sherlock was concerned. "I'm really okay, Sherlock. It still hurts, but Molly's already made it better. We're safe here, right?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Then all I can do is heal from now on."

Sherlock kissed his neck, squishing himself into John's side as much as possible. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "I'm sorry you got injured."

"Sherlock," John grabbed his chin and made him look up. Sherlock looked wrecked with guilt. It physically hurt John to see him in despair. "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault, okay? I got injured. Wasn't the first time. I should be thanking you for getting me out of there."

The furrow between Sherlock's brow eased imperceptibly. "I needed you out of there." His eyes flickered downward. "I needed you with me." He looked into John's eyes. "We haven't known each other for a very long time, but I can't imagine being without you anymore."

No one cared about John as much as Sherlock, ever. John felt his throat suddenly grow tight, so he kissed Sherlock deeply, sliding their lips together, sucking Sherlock's bottom lip gently.

Sherlock's tongue gently poked John's lip, requesting entrance, and John granted it, parting his lips. Sherlock's tongue passed through his lips, licking into his mouth. Sherlock moaned quietly and cradled the back of John's head.

They kissed for several minutes, simply needing to feel each other, needing to be close. John wanted to have sex in Sherlock's obnoxious brother's bed, but not at the moment. Not when they both needed comfort.

John guided them down so their heads were on the same pillow, John's uninjured leg against the mattress. Sherlock's large hand grasped John's hip, holding him. They parted for air, gasping. Sherlock's lips were red and wet and his eyes were hazy. John loved that expression, when Sherlock was dazed and high on endorphins.

Sherlock nuzzled his face into John's neck (it seemed like a habit of his) and wrapped his arm around John, breathing deeply.

John wrapped his arm around Sherlock's broad shoulders. Sherlock was warm and solid and _alive _in his embrace, and John was overwhelmed by how much he loved him. The thought should have shocked John. It should have made him gasp sharply and question everything. But it didn't. When the word popped into his mind, he accepted it. They had been through too damned much, and now they were free. There was no longer a threat of being burned to death. John's heartbeat was heavy in his chest. He never felt like this for anyone, not even Mary, who, he thought with some regret, was a distant memory.

He would think about that later. Right now, he had a vulnerable Sherlock Holmes in his arms. "Are we really safe here?" he whispered.

"We are," Sherlock mumbled. "As long as we stay in the house. We're in Capital City. Lots of intelligent minds here. We'd be discovered eventually, but not here. No one questions my brother, or dares to invade his space."

"Okay," John buried his face in Sherlock's hair. "Okay."

Sherlock squeezed his torso tighter. "Are you happy we're here?"

John smiled. "Of course I am. You just said we're safe."

"I meant...with me," Sherlock clarified, small and quiet.

John was certain that if he hugged Sherlock as hard as he wanted to, he would have sucked the life from him. "I want to spend my life with you."

Sherlock lifted his head, bright eyes rapidly filling with joy. "Really?"

"Yes, really," John grinned, rubbing their noses together. Sherlock looked confused by the display and John just had to laugh at him.

Sherlock smirked and kissed John's temple. His lips pursed. "I know I'm a difficult person, John, and I am even more difficult to live with, but," he briefly looked down at the sheets, then looked up from underneath his lashes, "I promise I'll always try my best for you."

John loved him. John loved him so fucking much. "Me, too, Sherlock," he said thickly. He gently tucked Sherlock's head under his chin. "Me, too."

* * *

**I just had to put fluff towards the end of the chapter. They've been though so much.**

**I think the next chapter will be the last. And you know what? It's going to be more fluff. And sex.**


	13. The War Ends

**This is it, friends: the final chapter.**  
**You know, this story had a lot less sex in it than I thought it would. Too much angst, I guess.**

* * *

The physical and emotional exhaustion from their journey made John and Sherlock drift off to sleep for a couple hours. After waking, John realized they had never actually slept together, but it made sense, because Sherlock could never stay long enough to relax. It was nice, though. Being wrapped around someone felt right and comfortable. John opened his eyes and saw Sherlock's curls in his face. No longer held down by the helmet or wet with sweat, his hair was fluffy like a dandelion. John's nose itched and he sniffed, getting his face out of the curls. Sherlock looked younger than he ever did right now, hair mussed and mouth open against the pillow, deep breaths passing his lips. John laughed quietly. Sherlock would hate to know he was like this, vulnerable and slightly snoring.

He brushed Sherlock's hair back and it was soft as silk.

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed and he frowned, moaning in protest, burying his face into the pillow and trying to stay asleep. John really should have let him sleep; he had been Firebending for the majority of the day. But, he couldn't stop touching Sherlock after weeks and weeks of anxiety and tension. John moved his hand to Sherlock's broad shoulder, rubbing it, and running his hand down Sherlock's bicep.

Sherlock sighed and opened his eyes. His eyes were glassy and confused, and a small smile graced his lips. "John?"

"Yeah?"

Sherlock closed his eyes. "Just making sure you're real." His voice was deep from sleep and utterly sexy. John could have sworn he felt the rumble from Sherlock's throat vibrate on the pillow.

"Thought I was a dream?"

"Mmm, it's happened."

"You've dreamt of me?" John ran his hand down Sherlock's side.

"Mmmm," Sherlock hummed.

God, that fucking voice. John kissed his Adam's apple, grinning when Sherlock made an enquiring hum and it vibrated against his lips.

"You're gorgeous like this," John said, his own voice becoming husky. He licked his lips, feeling a little horny.

Sherlock opened his eyes, smiling softly. "You're not too bad, yourself," he gave a corny wink.

"You're such an idiot," John smacked his thigh lightly.

Sherlock's eyes darkened. "You're aroused."

"A bit, yeah," John admitted, smirking. "Plan on doing anything about it, or are you just gonna keep stating the obvious?"

Sherlock looked down at his leg. "I don't want to aggravate your wound."

John actually forgot about it for a minute. Molly was truly an excellent healer. No wonder the Fire Nation wanted her.

"We can do something as long as you don't jostle it too much," John said. "You can start by kissing me."

Sherlock did at once, his lips warm and insistent. His hand cupped John's cheek and his lips moved slowly, but deliberately. John kissed back and held Sherlock's hip, his thumb rubbing a circle in the material of Sherlock's uniform. Sherlock kissed John's bottom lip, sucking and pulling it lightly.

John felt himself get harder and pressed his body against Sherlock's, but moved his injured leg back so it didn't come into contact with Sherlock. He sucked Sherlock's top lip, nibbling it, and he felt Sherlock's responding moan in his bones. They rocked together until they reached full hardness, breathy moans muffled by their kisses.

"John," Sherlock whispered against his lips, "I have an idea."

"Yeah?" John opened his eyes.

Sherlock's pupils were blown wide, light irises nearly invisible. "I don't think Mycroft has any kind of oil to use as lubricant, so you can't fuck me yet-"

John coughed and sputtered. "I wasn't-"

"But we can do something else."

"I wasn't planning on fucking you," John said, his ears turning red. "Not until we have something to make it as painless as possible."

"I know, didn't I just say that?"

"Yeah," John said weakly, face hot from Sherlock talking about being fucked matter-of-factly. "So, erm, what do you have in mind?"

"Can we get naked first?"

"I thought you would never ask."

Sherlock stripped almost instantly, but it took John a little longer to work around his burn. Sherlock was hard, cock standing proudly, chest was flushed, and lips red from being kissed, nipped and sucked.

John had to attack his lips, biting and thrusting his hips against Sherlock's. He was _delectable. _

Sherlock broke this kiss, groaning at the touch of John's cock against his. "_Ahh, _John, John! I didn't tell you about the thing yet."

"The tell me about the thing," John smeared kisses along his collarbone.

"You can get behind me...John, you're distracting me."

"Interesting," John kissed one of his nipples.

Sherlock exhaled shakily. "You can get behind me," he repeated, "put your leg over my hip so it won't hurt, and...John!"

John stopped nibbling Sherlock's nipple. "Sorry. Continue."

Sherlock huffed half-heartedly. "As I was saying, you can, um, thrust between my thighs," he finished awkwardly.

But that sounded _delightful _to John. "Turn around, Sherlock," he commanded lowly.

Sherlock immediately flipped onto his other side.

John carefully swung his injured leg over Sherlock's hip and lined his hips up with Sherlock's pale, muscular thighs. John felt himself begin to leak in anticipation.

He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's torso and Sherlock lifted one of his thighs enough for John to slide himself through. His cock sliding between Sherlock's thighs made John groan. This was a very good idea.

"Come on, John," Sherlock growled.

John fucked himself between Sherlock's thighs, which would have been weird a few weeks ago, but the friction was perfect. Sherlock had known exactly what he needed. He bit Sherlock's pale shoulder and didn't realize he was grunting with each thrust, feeling pleasure from root to tip of his prick, arousal like a hot pool in his groin.

He reached down and took Sherlock in hand, who threw his head back and groaned, and bucked his hips so his erection fucked John's hand.

They had a fast rhythm, the bedroom filled with John's grunts and Sherlock's moans, which were cut-off from his bitten bottom lip.

"Sherlock, let me hear you," John whispered into his ear. "We don't have to hide anymore. Let me hear you."

Sherlock let his mouth drop open and he moaned loudly, his dick slick in John's hand. The space in between Sherlock's thighs was now wet from John, and fuck, he wasn't going to last. One day, he would last longer than a teenage boy. But for now, he jerked off Sherlock and gave five more thrusts before his release was spilling between Sherlock's thighs. John muffled his long groan in the pillow, panting when the last spurt of come shot from his cock.

Sherlock was still fucking John's hand, now whimpering and desperate. "You can do it, Sherlock," John encouraged, still breathless and coming down from his high. He propped himself on his elbow to look at Sherlock's face, and he rubbed his thumb over the tip. "Come for me, Sherlock."

Sherlock gasped sharply, eyes shutting tightly and mouth dropping open into an O, and he came, hot and wet all over John's hand and on the sheets. John released him before he became oversensitive and he rolled on his back, his shoulder hurting.

Sherlock turned over and stared at John with glassy eyes, catching his breath. He was immaculate with messy hair and come between his thighs.

"I think," Sherlock said thickly, then cleared his throat. "I think Molly and Mycroft may have heard us."

The corner of John's mouth twitched up. "You think?"

Sherlock wriggled closed to John and put his head on his chest, kissing above his right nipple. "You enjoyed my suggestion?"

"Hell, yeah. Next time, I want you to try it." He wanted to witness Sherlock utterly lose control (more than usual).

Sherlock grinned. "Okay."

They lay in companionable silence, limbs loose and damp skin cooling.

"John?" Sherlock asked ten minutes later.

"Yes?"

His fingers played with John's blond chest hair. "You had a partner before the war."

"Yeah," John didn't deny it, but he felt uneasy. "Why?"

"You don't want her?"

John wouldn't ask how Sherlock knew she was female. "I don't," he said to the ceiling. "I don't and, I feel bad about it."

He felt Sherlock tense.

John wrapped his arm around Sherlock's shoulders. "Not bad enough to leave you, but, I think she expects me to come back. And I won't."

"Ever?"

"Besides her, I don't have anyone to go back to in the Earth Kingdom," he admitted. That was part of the reason why he joined the army; no one would really miss him besides her, and he didn't even know if she thought about him. "I don't want to go back to her, and I feel bad because I should," he confessed. The guilt he felt was strictly on moral grounds. He didn't miss her, and he felt like a bastard.

"I'm sure Mycroft could figure out what she's been doing," Sherlock said, looking up at him.

"Yeah?" That could relieve his guilt a little. "If he could, yeah. I just want to make sure she's okay."

"Consider it done."

Sherlock wrapped his arm around John's neck. "Mine," he said almost inaudibly.

John knew the thought of Mary upset Sherlock, or else he wouldn't have asked about her. But John couldn't be with anyone else now, even if he tried. He tightened his arm around Sherlock. "Mine."

* * *

Weeks passed by in Mycroft's home. Before long, Molly was fully able to heal John's leg. He felt like he could never repay her, but she only smiled and told him that their friendship was enough, and he owed her nothing, except:

"Just keep Sherlock occupied so he stops deducing every man I come into contact with," she said.

Sherlock and John kissed practically 24/7 and spooned every night, and their fucking turned into making love. John recognized this as the honeymoon phase, but it was still blissful.

Mycroft was annoyed by their sexual activities, sending them disgusted glares whenever he could. Molly was embarrassed by it, which wasn't surprising, since her room was right next to theirs. John and Sherlock didn't care enough to stop. In the night, they whispered sweet nothings into each other's ears and made confessions they were too afraid to voice in the daylight. It was Sherlock who whispered his love confession to John first, when John was inside him for the first time, and John only took seven seconds to say it back.

Even though they were technically in hiding, they had never been happier.

Mycroft did find out about Mary. She was fine. More than fine. She was, apparently, being taken care of by another man.

John was angry that she was having an affair while she thought he was away at war, but it made severing ties easier with her. He wrote her a letter bidding his cold goodbye. He told her that he was safe but kept the details hidden. He didn't want her to rat him out to the Earth King out of spite, which upon reflection, was something she would do. Being done with her only made John feel closer to Sherlock, no obstacles between them.

Two months of hiding ended when the Avatar defeated the Fire Lord. They all knew the war would end one way or another when Sozin's Comet arrived. Mycroft had told them about the Fire Lord's plan to use the comet's strength to aid his army in an attempt to completely take over the other nations. John hated that, hated the fucking Fire Lord and his plans, but breathed a huge sigh of relief when, the next day, word reached the world that he lost.

"I was right," Sherlock said smugly. "I knew the Avatar would defeat him."

"Do you have to make everything about yourself?" John raised an eyebrow.

"Absolutely," Sherlock sniffed.

It was nice to know love did not change Sherlock's haughtiness, and John thought that sincerely. He was still the same Sherlock he met at the Boiling Rock, just softer, more open, but he was there all along.

"How were you so sure?" Molly asked.

He gave her the you're-a-fool look he was so fond of, "He's master of the elements. How could he have lost?"

Molly rolled her eyes. "Okay, point taken."

Within the two months of living with Mycroft, John didn't see him genuinely smile until after the war. He wondered if Mycroft's icey attitude was largely an act, like Sherlock's.

* * *

Since they were no longer traitors, John and Sherlock went outside.

Once he stepped on the dirt, John realized he could _finally _Earthbend. He couldn't wait anymore. Right outside of the house, John stomped his right foot and brought his fists together, bringing up a large stone wall, and punched the air, sending the rock crashing into a tree. The rock smashed into tiny pieces with a_ crunch. _

John took a deep breath and released it slowly. That felt good.

Sherlock was smiling at him. "Feel like yourself again?"

"Yeah, actually," John brought rocks up from the ground and rotated his fingers, having the rocks hover in a circle above his hand. He flicked his index finger against his thumb and flung a little rock at Sherlock.

"Hey!" Sherlock deflected the rock.

John snorted. "Sorry, princess. I forgot you're such a delicate flower."

Sherlock's lower lip protruded in a full pout. "You're mocking me."

"I adore you," John said easily, feeling light and happy.

Sherlock blushed, as he always did when John complimented him.

John looked around the Fire Nation capital. He could go anywhere in the city. "Sherlock, can we take a walk?"

"Anything you'd like, John." He held out his hand.

They walked, hands clasped together tightly, with nowhere to go, just taking in the city, the feeling of freedom from the war and the weight that was on their relationship for all that time. Sherlock had evidently grown up in the city, because every so often they would pass by an area and Sherlock would tell John a story from when he was a child. He spoke enthusiastically, eyes lit up and sparkling in the sun.

John decided that Sherlock must have been an adorable child.

When the sun set they walked back to the house. They were in the bedroom when Sherlock whined, "But there's so much I still have to show you!"

A thought occurred to John that, if he had been alone, would have made him tear up. He hugged Sherlock, hiding his face in his neck. "You'll have a long time to show me, won't you?" he asked softly.

Sherlock hugged him back, resting his cheek on top of John's head. "We will," he agreed. "You're right, John. We will."

John kissed Sherlock on the lips, not breaking the hug, and they kissed and held each other for a long time because they could. They could kiss as long as they liked. They could spend an entire two weeks hugging, if they really wanted to. They did have a long time.

They had the rest of their lives.

* * *

**Thank you SO MUCH for reading this weird AU! This was pretty hard to write for me because these two universes don't have much in common. Like I said in the first chapter, my friend had the idea.**

**I was super surprised to hear some of you haven't actually watched "Avatar: The Last Airbender." I HIGHLY recommend it. I don't do this universe justice. The show is one of the best I've ever seen. Seriously.**

**Thank you again :)**


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